Aquí Contigo (Here With You)
by BuffyAnne
Summary: Going to Texas for two weeks with her ex-boyfriend who she might still sort of be in love with sounds like a veritable recipe for disaster. But Laurel's always been a magnet for disaster. So really, she's placing blame on the universe at this point.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Aquí Contigo [Here With You]

 **Rating:** Mature

 **Pairing/Characters:** Frank/Laurel, Laurel Castillo, Frank Delfino, Wes Gibbins, Annalise Keating, Jorge Castillo

 **Spoilers:** Canon up to 2x15, then diverges from canon. S3 AU

 **A/N:** I have had the outline for this fic sitting on my computer since last summer as a potential idea for Season 3. The first two chapters have been written, patiently waiting, and then the season happened, and I lost some of the muse for this. But I've decided to start working on it again because I do like the idea I came up with.

This was originally supposed to be a one-shot, sharing-the-bed fic that expanded into a 10-chapter fic. It's canon up to the end of season 2 and then diverges completely. So really, it's an AU version of season 3, and I think we could all use that. I hope you enjoy it; I would love to hear your thoughts.

And a special thanks to Erin for her help and support and inspiration (and for helping me come up with a summary)!

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

"Ms. Castillo!"

Laurel looks up from the file in her hand in confusion as Annalise calls for her from across the house. She can't actually see her professor but she knows she's in her office. The rest of the group looks up as well. Glancing over at Wes, she watches as he just shrugs before looking back down at his own file and barely giving her a moment of his time. She sighs heavily before standing.

"My office," Annalise calls again as if Laurel isn't moving fast enough.

She starts at that, grabbing her legal pad and pen in case she needs to take notes, and walks quickly by Bonnie who is sitting at her desk. If Laurel had remembered he was finally back, she would have noticed that Frank's space in the corner is empty.

As such, she doesn't realize until she steps into Annalise's office and finds Frank also there, sitting at one of the two chairs opposite their boss. She hesitates and forces herself to look away from him, focusing on Annalise.

"You need me for something?" she asks, holding up her notepad.

"Yes, please take a seat." Annalise gestures impatiently to the empty seat next to Frank.

She slowly moves into the office, hating the way she can smell his cologne as she moves closer, hating more the way it makes her feel.

Annalise wastes no time in getting down to business.

"Our client, Mr. Mendes, has given us a lead. I'm sending you with Frank down to Laredo to track down a witness and convince him to come back to testify. Frank can go over the details with you later." She effectively dismisses her with just a few short words.

Laurel doesn't say anything at first, can't bring herself to move. All she can think about is the fact that she's going to be alone with Frank, for who knows how long. Frank, who she hasn't talked to in months. Frank, who looks even better than she remembered. Frank, who she still might possibly love… _This is really going to go over great with Wes_ , she thinks sarcastically.

"I—I don't know if—" she tries to find the words, something she can say to get out of this, before Frank speaks.

"I told her it wasn't a good idea," he says, his voice softer than she would like. He clearly senses how uncomfortable she is with this assignment. She can also tell that he's telling her not to bother trying to get out of it. He's already tried. She doesn't know if she should be pleased or disappointed that he doesn't want her going with him.

They haven't talked since he's been back but his return has already wreaked havoc on her life. The worst part is that she doesn't actually care how things have turned upside down. Her heart has been fluttering since seeing him again after months away, after not knowing where he was or if he was okay. If he was even alive.

She's angry.

And, also, she's not.

"And I told you, Frank, that you don't get a say in this," Annalise says sternly, barely sparing him a glance. He quiets at that, looking down at his hands like a kicked puppy.

Frank still has a lot to do in order to earn his way back to Annalise's good graces. She can see that easily. Annalise is always short with him, barely giving him a moment of her time. She sees the way Frank follows after her, trying to anticipate anything she may need before he's even asked. He's not always successful. But at least she's let him back in the house, let him back in their lives. And it wasn't a moment too soon. No one wanted to admit it, but they were starting to flounder without his unique skill set.

"You are both adults and perfectly capable of putting aside whatever it is that was going on between the two of you and just do your jobs." She gives them a pointed look, and Frank nods. "And besides, Ms. Castillo is the only one with the language skills needed for this," she points out.

She's right. No one else can speak Spanish fluently, and if they are going to the deep south of Texas to find someone that can help their client, she's probably going to need to speak Spanish.

"It's fine," Laurel speaks up at that, forcing herself to look at Frank so he can see that she's okay. He glances up at her then as if he can sense her looking at him. She gives him a small smile. She hopes her façade is convincing.

"We'll be good," she tells Annalise, though she doesn't stop looking at him. She almost forgot how blue his eyes are, the way they always seem to look right through to her soul. She takes a breath, quickly looking away before letting herself go down that road.

"Great," Annalise responds. Laurel knows she isn't going to take any other answer anyway. "You'll fly down to San Antonio and then drive to Laredo from there. Your flight is in the morning. Do not come back unless you have what we need."

Annalise looks to Frank at that, and there's a clear message that this is a test for him. If he can't come through, Annalise doesn't see the point in keeping him around. In that moment, Laurel's glad she's going with him. She wants to do what she can to help him, wants to make sure that he succeeds in this and can maybe get back into Annalise's inner circle. And, really, she still feels responsible for everything that happened. If she hadn't said anything to Annalise, he wouldn't have had to leave and everything would be so different right now. They would be different. He wouldn't have had to leave her.

"What about class?" she asks then. "I mean spring break is next week but…" she hesitates, glancing over at Frank to gauge his confidence, "what if it takes us longer than that?"

Annalise looks annoyed. She watches as her eyes narrow and her jaw tightens, and Laurel doesn't know if it's because she even asked or if it's because she doesn't have the faith in her that she's expected to have. But she doesn't know any of the details of this trip or how hard it's going to be, and she needs to be more focused on class this semester after her disastrous first year.

"Well, hopefully, it won't actually take you a whole week to do your jobs but I _have_ already talked to your professors, let them know you are vital to this assignment, and you may not be in class for a couple of weeks. You'll still be expected to keep up with your work so make sure to take your books with you," she tells her.

"Okay," Laurel responds.

"Now, are you done wasting my time?" Annalise asks before looking down at some of the papers in front of her, reading as she picks up her pen to make a note.

Laurel opens her mouth as if to reply, remind Annalise that she called her in here. But this has been Annalise's default that past few weeks, this case starting to take its toll. Laurel nods, even though she can't see it, and glances at Frank. They both start to stand when Annalise speaks again.

"Not you, Frank," she says, and Laurel sees Frank freeze before slowly sinking back into the seat. "We have more to discuss."

Laurel gives him a small, sympathetic smile before heading out of the office and back to the living room and her work.

"What was that about?" Wes asks as she sits back beside him on the couch. There's an edge to his tone, and she knows he's realized that Frank was with her in Annalise's office.

"I'll tell you about it later," she tells him lightly before reaching for her file and attempting to get back to work. She wants to appear that she's working, at least. It's hard to do, though; her brain can only focus on this assignment, on Frank, on the fact that she's being forced to travel alone with him.

She's been doing so well. It's been months since he first left—almost a year—and, after several months of constantly thinking about him and worrying herself sick, she finally started moving forward with her life. She still thinks about him, usually at night when she's alone, but she'd been able to push him to the back of her mind much of the time. And she had just started being able to go days at a time without him worming his way into her thoughts. It felt like maybe, just maybe, she was finally able to move on when he suddenly reappeared. One day a couple of weeks ago, she walked into the office, and there he was as if he had never left.

It had been a shock, and Wes had been particularly angry that Annalise allowed him back, even though it was proven that some business associate of Wallace Mahoney was actually responsible for his death. It was just truly awful timing that Annalise had sent Frank to take Wes to New York. She never understood the logic that Frank would kill Mahoney. Annalise seemed so sure but it didn't make sense to Laurel, even with her admittedly limited knowledge of their history. Bonnie would never fill her in but Laurel somehow knows that there was something else to the story. There has to be.

It's a few hours later when everyone is starting to pack up for the night. Laurel is shoving some potentially useful files in her backpack near Frank's desk when Frank walks over from Bonnie's area. He picks up his briefcase and suit jacket, moving awkwardly around her. They never used to be awkward. They used to almost dance around each other, fluidly as if they had been doing it for years.

"I'll pick you up in the morning, Laurel," he tells her once he has everything. She looks up at him, and all she can notice is the way he avoids making eye contact. Before she can decline, he continues as if sensing her argument. "It'll be easier than getting a cab during rush hour. We'll talk through the details on the plane."

His tone is professional as he finishes. He's put up a wall. They're nothing more than colleagues now. She hates it. Even before they were together, they were never formal. It's been nothing but formal for two weeks.

"Okay," she agrees softly, watching as he nods silently and meets her eyes briefly. He turns from her then, saying good night to Bonnie before walking out. She doesn't argue because he's right; it will be next to impossible to get an Uber without a ridiculous surcharge during rush hour. If he's planning to drive and park there, then it would just be easier to go with him.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, Wes walks towards her quickly, and she can tell that he heard everything. She closes her eyes and sighs quietly. She's not ready for this conversation.

"Plane?" he asks as he reaches her. That edge is back. "Why is Frank picking you up? What's going on?"

He sounds upset—no, jealous—and she wishes she could tell him it's nothing, and he has nothing to worry about but she can't do that. She knows deep down that would be a lie. She still feels something for Frank. She just doesn't know what it means right now.

"I told you we'll talk about it later," she reminds instead, zipping up her backpack and throwing it over her shoulder. She smiles, looking up at him. "But, right now, I'm hungry, so let's go get some dinner."

They go to her favorite kabob place, though the conversation is stilted. She can see that Wes is stewing over what he heard, and she's too caught up in thinking about Frank to really help carry the conversation forward.

About halfway through, she sighs, laying her fork down.

"Wes," she says softly. "It's not that bad."

"Then what is it?" he asks. "Why is your ex-boyfriend murderer picking you up and taking you with him to the airport?"

She shushes him, quickly looking around to make sure no one heard him before feeling the need to jump to Frank's defense.

"He didn't kill your father, and you know that," she whispers harshly. Laurel had never been so relieved when they finally learned the truth. And yes, technically, Frank is a murderer. He killed Lila but Wes doesn't know that, and she's starting to make herself believe that there's a reason for it, something that will make it not as bad as it actually is. She's fully aware that she's deluding herself.

"What about Rebecca?" he asks.

"That wasn't Frank," she replies immediately. She actually doesn't know if that's true but something inside her tells her it wasn't him. "She ran off, Wes. He didn't have anything to do with that."

He gives Laurel a look as if she's stupid or naïve, but she just shakes her head.

"You don't know that he was involved," she finishes, resigned.

"Why are you defending him? You said yourself he's a horrible person, like your father, and—"

"We're all horrible people," she retorts, cutting him off. "I'm sure you don't want me dragging up everything you've done… None of us are innocent here but he didn't kill your father and he didn't kill Rebecca, and yes, he's picking me up tomorrow because Annalise is sending us to find a witness to help our client but I didn't have a choice in that. So, can we just eat, and we'll talk about this when we get home?"

He stares at her for several moments, and she pleads with her eyes for him to let this go for now. She needs this normalcy, the normalcy of eating dinner with her kind of, sort of boyfriend. He sighs and nods.

"Okay," he says softly. "We'll talk later."

"Thank you," she says. She wishes they didn't have to talk about it all but she knows she won't be that lucky. It's something they have to talk about. She can't keep secrets, doesn't want to anymore.

It's not until they are walking into her apartment that she really regrets that thought. She doesn't have to tell him everything, right? She can just tell him the facts. Annalise is sending her to Texas with Frank. He doesn't need to know how confused her feelings still are; they aren't serious. This is so new to them, and she honestly doesn't know what it is. She should be allowed her secrets.

"So," he starts after she walks into her room and grabs her suitcase. "Annalise is sending you on a vacation with Frank."

"Wes," she warns. She glances at him before starting to gather some of her clothes, wanting to get everything packed as quickly as possible. It's already late.

"No, I'm just trying to understand," he says obnoxiously, jealousy shining through.

"It's not a _vacation_ ," she specifies tightly. "And you know that. Look, our client gave up someone who can provide an alibi, clear his charges. The witness is in Texas, and Frank is going to need my help with this one," she explains everything she knows.

"Frank requested you come with him?"

She rolls her eyes, moving around him to her dresser. "No, in fact, he told Annalise it wasn't a good idea but she insisted. And really, he is going to need me down there. Spanish will be needed, and I've heard Frank try to speak Spanish. It's not good," she tries to joke but it doesn't lighten the mood in the way she thought it would.

"Can't you just tell her you can't go?" he asks.

Her brow furrows. "This is our job, Wes," she starts slowly.

"No." He shakes his head, placing his hands on his hips. "You've been acting weird ever since he came back, and I'm not stupid. I know you missed him."

She doesn't deny it. They both know it's the truth. She's never hidden that.

He continues, "And you going on this trip isn't a good idea. Just tell her no. You have classes anyway. They got along fine without us before we all started; there's no reason they need you for this. But if you're going to go without trying to get out of it, then I think we have to be done. I can't do this."

She lets him finish even though she wants to stop him, cut him off but she lets him have this. She focuses on gathering what she's going to need instead.

She looks at him once he appears to be done, stopping in her task.

"Wes," she starts softly. "You're being ridiculous."

She walks over to him and glances up at him with a smile. She reaches out, placing her hand on his stomach and sliding it around to his side.

"This is our job, Wes. You have nothing to worry about," she tells him. "But we haven't been dating that long, and even if we had been, you don't have the right to get jealous and possessive like this." He's about to contradict her; she can see it so she continues on quickly. "I can't get on Annalise's bad side just to make you happy. You know that," she pleads, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. "So, please just try to understand where I'm coming from, okay?"

He sighs and looks down at her for several moments before leaning down and kissing her, hard. When he pulls away she can still see the anger in his eyes but his voice sounds softer when he answers. "Okay, yeah, you're right."

"It's going to be okay. There's nothing to worry about, and we'll talk every day," she tells him, moving away then and back to her luggage. She can feel his eyes on her the entire time. She looks back to him and smiles brightly, trying to make this as casual as she can. "Now come on, help me finish packing so that we can get to bed. We both have to get up early tomorrow," she reminds him.

He smiles a little then, and it makes her feel a bit better.

"Well, I don't know how much sleep you're going to be getting," he teases. She laughs, trying to let the normalcy return, trying to shut off the thoughts of Frank. It never works for long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Wes, you are being ridiculous. And you're not even supposed to be here right now. Annalise was expecting everyone by 8," Laurel reminds as she follows Wes out of her bedroom, her carry-on bag slung over her shoulder.

She's trying to be understanding. She really is. But that's easier said than done when Wes has been weirdly possessive since he found out about her required trip. When he's not threatening to break up with her if she goes, he's been clinging to her in a way that feels entirely excessive considering they haven't been dating that long.

Laurel's known for a while now that Wes's feelings run much deeper than hers, despite his assertions otherwise. He's told her he's not expecting this to be anything serious right now. And she's been honest with him that she still cares for Frank and misses him. But she's seen how quickly he's fallen, and she's pretended she hasn't because, honestly, she's needed the comfort and the release being with him gives her. She's well aware that this maybe makes her a horrible person.

She does care about Wes—he's her best friend—but at the end of the day, she doesn't quite see this thing with him being long-term. And maybe that's why this is such a big deal. Wes does know how she feels about Frank, and Wes has to know that the way she feels about him is still more friendship than romance. With Frank gone, there had been a real chance for them. And, now, they both know that her going away with Frank, even if only for work, is probably not going to be good for them as a couple. It's going to make or break them, allow her to see if what she feels for Wes could ever compare to what she once felt for Frank. Maybe still does.

But Laurel can't say no. And since she's realized just how much is riding on this for Frank, she doesn't want to. Frank's relationship with Annalise is all that he's had for so long. It's his life, and though she doesn't actually agree with the way Annalise treats him more often than not, she knows that he needs that relationship. If she can help him get that back, then she's going to do what she can. She cares about him. She's always going to care about him.

She lays her bag by her luggage and gives Wes a pointed look.

He sighs. "I know… I just, I'm going to miss you, and I want to see you off."

She gives him a wary look and briefly contemplates letting it go but she can't. She can't stay silent on his behavior. "No, you want to try and assert some sort of alpha-male control over me when Frank gets here, make sure he knows that we're dating."

She's not amused when he glances away, indicating his guilt.

He shakes his head, and she sees the anger in his eyes. "What do you expect me to do, Laurel? You're going away for who knows how long with your ex-boyfriend, and I'm just supposed to be okay with that?"

"Yes," she says simply. "Because this is my job. Us going to Texas is going to help our innocent client. And our client may be pro bono but Mr. Mendes deserves lawyers who will do everything they can to help him. That's what I'm doing. So yes, you are supposed to just be okay with that."

"I meant it last night, Laurel," he says suddenly. She's confused until he clarifies unprompted, "If you go with Frank alone, then we're over. I can't keep doing this, wondering if I'm just the substitute until he comes back."

"Wes," she says softly, sighing. "You're being ridiculous." She repeats. She smiles softly. "Frank and I broke up. He may be back but our issues are still there. Nothing has changed. Not really. And it's not okay for you to threaten our relationship," she gestures between the two of them, "over work. You should trust me."

"I do trust you. I don't trust him," he counters.

"So, what? We're over because you're insecure?" she asks. "If you actually trusted me, then you wouldn't be acting this way. Nothing is going to happen if I don't want it to. And I don't."

Before Wes is able to reply, there is a knock at the door, and she knows it's Frank. He's the only person she's expecting, but his heavy knock gives him away. Wes beats her to the door, ignoring her warning to come face-to-face with her ex.

She can't see Wes's face but she sees Frank's reaction. As she expected, Frank's not at all put off by what she can only assume is an attempt at intimidation by Wes. Instead, Frank strolls around Wes with a brief, uninterested greeting before walking closer to her.

"You ready to go?" he asks, not addressing the obvious elephant in the room, ignoring Wes. He's behaving like he belongs there, like they haven't been apart for so long. It's some weird, silent pissing match between him and Wes, and it's making her angry.

"Yeah," she says, forcing a soft tone and taking a deep breath. "Wes was just on his way to the office," she notes, pointedly looking at Wes and silently pleading with him to think rationally about this situation, the way she is. Because at the end of the day, she really doesn't know where she and Frank stand, but she does know that she's not quite ready to give up whatever it is she and Wes have been moving towards.

Frank nods.

"We should get going, too," he tells her. "This your bag?" he asks unnecessarily as he walks to the luggage. Before she can tell him that she'll get it, Wes has seemingly realized that Frank is about to become the chivalrous one and all but pushes her out of the way to get to her bag first.

"I'll get it for you, Laurel," Wes says, pulling the handle from Frank's grip.

"Wes! Stop it. You're behaving like a child," she scolds. She doesn't miss Frank's smirk, and she rolls her eyes. It's going to be a long day.

"I was just—"

"No. No, I was just," she says walking towards the both of them, taking her bag in hand. "I will get my bag. You need to go," she tells Wes.

He looks at her for a long moment before relenting.

"Fine," he says softly, leaning in to kiss her. Refusing to let him play this game any further, she turns her head so that he only gets her cheek.

"I'll call you later," she promises, making it clear that he needs to leave. He gives her a long look before turning, grabbing his backpack by the door, and walking out.

Silence fills the room once the door shuts. She and Frank stand there a little awkwardly. It's the first time they've been alone since his return, and it's not as easy as it once was for them.

"Sorry about that," she finally says. Frank, with his hands in his pockets, shrugs slightly.

"It's okay," he tells her with a small smile. If she looks closely enough, she can see that it's sad, but she avoids that. She can't let this become more awkward than it already is.

"Let me grab my purse and we can go."

She quickly walks from the living room to her bedroom. She needs to get her phone and charger but she sits for a moment on her bed, taking a couple of deep breaths. This is harder than she thought it would be. God, she really missed him. She hates that he has this effect on her, this hold over her that she doesn't think she can ever break free from; she doesn't know that she wants to.

After a few moments, she steels herself and gets what she needs before returning to the living room. When she does, Frank is by the door, her carry-on slung over his shoulder and her luggage in hand.

"Frank, I can get my bags," she says softly, though a small smile crosses her face.

He returns the smile and nods. "I know you can," he tells her lightly, clearly trying to make this easier, "but why don't you let me be a misogynistic ass this morning and get them for you."

Her breathy laugh is unavoidable and just like that, she's already starting to feel better.

"Okay," she agrees and follows him out.

Once they are at the airport, though, the reality of the situation starts to seep in. Frank's professionalism from the night before is back in full force and conversation is stilted, not as light as it seemed to be in her apartment. To make matters worse, Wes keeps texting her, and every time she looks at her phone, she can see Frank's jaw tighten. Out of jealousy or anger, she doesn't know. Probably both. But she's not going to play this game the entire trip.

They board the plane together. It's a Southwest flight, so when Frank comes to two empty seats, he glances back to make sure it's good with her. She nods and starts to put her bag in the overhead bin.

"You can have the window if you want," he offers.

She gives him a grateful smile. "Thanks."

She gets settled, leaving some space on her side for Frank to stretch out his legs a little more, since he's in the middle seat, and soon they are taking off.

She notices out of the corner of her eye as Frank watches her hands, clenched together on takeoff. She hates this part. She's fine once she gets up in the air but it's getting there that freaks her out. She watches as his own hands flex as if wanting to reach for hers, assure her that they're okay. But ultimately, he doesn't, though she can feel his eyes on her until she relaxes.

If this were a year ago, it would have been so different. She'd probably be looking forward to going away with him, even for work. She'd probably put up the armrest between them, curl into him, rest her head on his shoulder, maybe sleep. Knowing how they were, he'd probably try to get her to go back to the restroom with him to join the mile high club. And she probably would have, despite how awkward and cramped and completely un-sexy she knows it would be. It's all different now. And even if it's maybe for the best, part of her wishes nothing had changed.

She doesn't know what to say once they are on the plane, and he doesn't seem to want to talk to her. She waits until the drinks come by, allowing herself an alcoholic beverage when Frank does the same. She doesn't waste time in drinking it before settling in, away from Frank and against the wall, to get some sleep. She's tired, not having gotten much rest the night before. And if Frank isn't going to talk, she figures now is as good a time as any to catch up.

That's how they sit for the remainder of the long flight. Once they land, they don't even speak. They walk through the airport to baggage claim in silence. They wait for their bags in silence. They walk out of the airport and to the rental cars in silence. Anyone observing them wouldn't think they were two people traveling together, two people who used to be in love, two people who couldn't keep their hands off each other. To anyone else, they look like strangers. And to Laurel, they might as well be.

The long drive to Laredo starts off quietly, and Laurel almost thinks that Frank just isn't going to speak to her the entirety of the trip. This would be a good time to go over the details, strategize, and come up with a plan for finding their man. Frank has the details though, not her, and she's not particularly compelled to start the conversation if he doesn't want to.

So, they sit in silence with Frank behind the wheel. The GPS on Frank's phone giving sporadic directions to their destination and the traffic surrounding them the only sounds. Every now and then, her phone vibrates. She looks down to find more texts from Wes, wanting an update on the trip and to see how she is. She humors him, though she knows why he's doing it. And it's at least good company on the drive, something to make the silence seem less unbearable. It's after the first hour when she starts to see Frank's hands tighten on the wheel, his jaw still tense, and his sighs more audible.

She lets out her own sigh as she puts her phone down and glances over at him.

"Is it going to be like this the entire trip?" she asks, her annoyance clear.

He briefly looks at her, feigning confusion, and it's like Wes all over again. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not stupid, Frank," she tells him. "This jealousy, the stilted conversation when there is a conversation, the annoyed sighs that I'm talking to my boyfriend…"

He just looks ahead, not responding to her accusations. She rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath. They have to find a way to work together, and she doesn't want to start anything that is going to make this harder but she can't stay completely silent on the matter.

She thinks through her words before continuing. "I didn't ask to be part of this trip," her words are soft but sharp, "And I know you didn't want me on this trip. That was pretty clear in Annalise's office. You don't want to be around me."

"Laurel, that's not—" She doesn't let him finish.

"Well, maybe I don't want to be around you either. Why would I, after everything? But we didn't get a choice, and this is an important case. I want to help with that. I want to help you but it can't be like this the whole time, okay? We have to find a way to work together."

She watches then as a small smile crosses his face, a flicker of recognition. "We were always good at that."

"We were," she agrees. "So, can we just put aside the rest of it and focus on the case? Like it or not, you're stuck with me the next couple of weeks."

He doesn't say anything more but she watches as his face relaxes, as his hands loosen their grip, and his shoulders ease slightly. He doesn't say it with words but she can tell that he's agreed to her terms, agreed that they can't start this trip with so much tension between them.

After a few more moments of silence, she turns back to her phone. She's in the middle of texting Wes back when he does finally speak.

"That's hardly a punishment," he tells her. She looks back at him and their eyes meet for a brief moment. "Being stuck with you," he elaborates, turning back to the road as if looking at her is too hard, "that's never a bad thing."

She wishes he hadn't said anything. It's all so confusing and muddled already. She doesn't need him saying things to warm her heart, to make her remember why were together to begin with, to almost make her forget that he was gone for a year, that she has a boyfriend. She hates that he still has this effect on her. With just a few words and a soft look, her annoyance subsides just a little. And she knows she's in trouble. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything at all.

She finishes her text to Wes before looking out at the road in front of her and putting her phone down for the rest of the drive.

"Now would probably be a good time to talk about the case. Come up with a game plan?" she suggests after a moment.

He clears his throat. "Yeah, that's a good idea."

They spend the rest of the drive doing just that. Frank goes over everything he knows about the situation and the guy they're looking for. They talk through where to start and different ideas, strategies, what has the best chance of working, and what they'll do when they actually get to this guy.

He's going to be hard to find because he's not exactly the most upstanding citizen. And not wanting to be found is what makes this a tricky situation for Frank and Laurel. It's not as though Frank has had trouble locating people and doing the shady stuff before but Laurel can tell he's not as confident about his abilities as he once was, maybe because he's been out of the game too long and in unfamiliar territory. She's not sure what it is.

What happened to him while he was gone all those months? She wants to know. Wants to know where he's been and what he's been doing. Wants to know why he never answered her calls, let her worry for months over his safety, afraid he was already dead and she would never get to see him again.

It's a lot of unanswered questions but she's not going to ask them now. Just because they are working together doesn't mean she's ready for this conversation, ready for the answers it could bring. She's not sure she wants to know why he didn't care enough to pick up the phone and say he was okay. She's not sure she's ready to know what he was doing for the year he was gone.

Once they arrive at the hotel, she takes in her surroundings for a moment before walking to the back of the car where Frank is already unloading. She reaches for her bag the same time he does, his hand ending up on top of hers, and that familiar spark shoots through her as if she's been struck by electricity. It's overwhelming. It always has been. He doesn't seem to have the same problem.

Their eyes meet and she gives him a shy smile. "I can get my bags," she tells him gently, "and besides, you've got your own to worry about."

He acquiesces without protest, for which she's grateful, and they head inside to check into their rooms. Turns out they are right next to each other and for Laurel, that's too close, closer than they've been in so long.

"Hey," Frank calls before she steps into her room. "You want to grab dinner, something to drink?"

She looks at him a moment, and she's struck by the fact that she wants to. She really wants to go with him and have a good night and maybe find a way to make this trip less awkward by proving that they can be friends. But his comments from earlier are still very present in her mind, her hand is still scorching, and she knows it's not a good idea.

She gives a soft smile.

"I think I'm going to turn in early tonight," she declines.

If that upsets him, he doesn't let it show. Instead, he gives her a small smile and nods in understanding. She watches as he inserts his key and opens the door before turning back to her.

"If you change your mind, I'll be at the bar." He smirks as if knowing what he's doing to her, knowing it's hard for her to resist. She almost has to laugh at his confidence.

She just shakes her head. "Not tonight… But I will take a rain check," she promises him without thinking before entering her room and shutting the door behind her.

She leans back against the door and lets out a sigh. It's been a long day and space is needed. She wants to call Wes, too; beat him to the punch so that he can't have time to stew on her silence and the fact that she is with Frank any more than he probably already has. She settles in, takes a quick shower, and does just that, laying back on the bed as she waits for him to answer.

It doesn't take long before she hears his familiar voice on the other line. "Hey."

"Hey," she returns with a smile. She feels some semblance of normal. "How's everything there?"

"Basically the same. Annalise is pushing us hard with this case," he tells her.

"Yeah," she nods, "hopefully, we can help you guys out with that."

There's a moment of silence over the line when she realizes he's thinking about the fact that the "we" in her sentence includes Frank.

"Uh, how is that?" he asks. His tone tells her he's fishing for details about her day, how she and Frank are interacting.

She doesn't play that game. "It's fine. Just travel today. We'll start work on the case tomorrow."

She knows that's not what he's asking but she's effectively told him that he's not getting more information. He seems to understand.

"That's good," he says slowly before there's another pause. The conversation is awkward and stilted and not the normal she was hoping for. They should be stronger than this. He should trust her.

"Yeah, uh, I'm actually pretty tired. You know how traveling all day can do that," she excuses. "I think I might go and get some early sleep."

"Sure, okay. Talk to you later?"

She hates the insecurity she hears in his voice. She wants to assure him that they're good but she doesn't feel that confident herself.

Instead, she sighs softly. "Of course," she tells him honestly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Once they hang up, she lays there thinking about Wes and Frank and the day and the night before and all the drama that seems to surround her life all the time. It's a wonder she hasn't gone crazy. She thinks back on Frank's offer, then, to meet him in the bar for a drink. A drink would be good, help to put some of her thoughts out of her mind so she could maybe get some rest. She thinks better of it though. It would probably create new thoughts and, right now, that's the last thing she needs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

They agreed to meet up the next morning at breakfast. Laurel doesn't sleep too well, tossing and turning, but she's up early and down in the restaurant for shortly before eight. Frank strolls in not long after in his three-piece suit, beard well-groomed as always, and hair slicked back. There is nothing particularly different about the way he looks but she's struck by how gorgeous he really is. She could say it's an objective observation—she's pretty sure anyone with eyes would reach the same conclusion—but she knows, for her, it's more.

"Mornin'," he says with a smirk as he sits across from her at the small table. "Sleep well?"

She gives him a small smile and nods. "I did," she lies, "you?"

"I did. Slept great," he tells her. His tone is friendlier than the day before, and it feels like they're getting off on the right foot. Or at least he's trying. They may both be ready to move forward.

The waitress walks over then, and Laurel watches as her eyes widen the moment she sees Frank.

"Hey, it's you," she greets with a bright smile, almost ignoring Laurel and focusing completely on Frank. Laurel's pretty sure it's not objective for her either.

He smirks up at her, that Frank Delfino charm on full display. "And it's you," he flirts. "Missed you after you left last night."

Laurel's eyes widen slightly at Frank's words, at the fact that he's actually flirting right in front of her, that he knows the waitress at all.

"Yeah, well, early shift and all," she giggles. She actually _giggles_. And Laurel's struck by the jealousy that's swelling up in her unexpectedly.

"Bar got boring after you left," Frank goes on, grinning.

Laurel feels a slight sense of relief at that. Her mind was already wandering to other conclusions. She didn't know how she'd feel if Frank had brought this woman back to his room while she slept right next door. She knows she shouldn't care, has no claim to him. But she does. She does care.

"It's usually boring. That's why I wanted to take you somewhere else last night," the waitress tells him with a shrug. "But I may be around tonight if you want to buy me another drink," she flirts.

Laurel sighs loudly, annoyance clear. Frank smirks at her, and that's when she notices the mirth in his eyes. He's noticed that she's jealous, may even be playing this up a bit. Of course he's doing this on purpose, trying to get a rise out of her by flirting in front of her, reminding her that she still wants him. But it doesn't change the fact that he was actually hitting on the waitress the night before when she wasn't around. It doesn't change the fact that it does bother her, that she doesn't want him wanting anyone else.

The waitress seems to remember her role during this interaction, moving on to taking Frank's order before turning to take Laurel's and walking off with a playful smile in Frank's direction.

"Sounds like you had a good night," Laurel says pointedly.

Frank shrugs, shaking his head. "It was just a few drinks," he tells her, his voice sincere as if he's thought better of his plan to make her upset and jealous. After a moment, he adds, "It would've been better if you had been there."

She looks at him a moment before glancing away. "You don't have to do that."

"Do what?" he asks, genuinely confused.

"Make me feel better about whatever you were doing. You don't owe me anything. It's not like we're together," she shrugs, taking a deep breath.

He scratches at his beard before sighing. "That's not what I was doing. It's the truth. Yeah, I had a good time but it would've been better if you were there."

The words hang in the air between them. Laurel doesn't know what to say. This is too familiar and not something she wants to get into. She doesn't owe him anything, she reminds herself. She spent too much of her time over the past year on him when he didn't seem to care at all about her, when he purposefully ignored her, off doing who knows what.

The buzzing of her phone breaks the quiet, and she reaches for it from where it sits on the table. _Wes_. Again.

Frank scoffs. "A little early to start monitoring you, isn't it?"

"What are you talking about? That's not what he's doing," she says, brow furrowed.

"No?" he asks sardonically. "'cause from where I'm sitting, it looks a whole hell of a lot like he doesn't trust you."

"Don't," she says sharply. "Stop acting like you know anything about my life or my relationship with Wes. Stop acting like you care about me. You haven't been here."

His jaw tightens but he doesn't argue with her the way he looks like he wants to. Instead, he nods. "You're right," he tells her, surrendering. "I'm sorry; it's not my place. Won't happen again."

She's surprised by the response but grateful for it.

"Thank you," she tells him before glancing down her phone. There's not much of a greeting.

 _Everything okay?_

That's it. No hi, no good morning. Just a question, a question seeking information, seeking assurance. She hates that Frank is right. Wes is monitoring her, doesn't trust her. And, honestly, she doesn't blame him.

 _Fine. Busy._

She responds before placing the phone down. She's not going to let him play this game. She looks up at Frank and watches as he looks away, guilty. He was clearly trying to gauge the interaction and her response and is ashamed for already going back on his word, trying to get back into something that's not his place.

He clears his throat. "Should we go over the game plan?" he asks, brushing it aside.

xxx

They mostly work well together the first couple of days. Laurel's surprised that it really doesn't take them long to get back into their groove, working and bouncing off each other as they always did. Their mission starts as mostly reconnaissance. They have little to go on. A name, a vague description, an old employer, a tenuous connection to their client.

They spend time going through public records, following any leads that cross their path. Mostly dead ends.

By the morning of their third day, Laurel can tell Frank is starting to get frustrated. They've not made contact, don't really have an idea of where to start, their client has no additional information, and Annalise is taking this all out on Frank.

She's losing steam as they work in his hotel room. She looks away from her computer, giving her eyes a rest, and watches Frank for several moments. She takes in the tightness of his jaw, the stiffness of his shoulders, the worry in his eyes. He's stressed, nervous that they aren't going to be successful and it will be his head on the chopping block after only just getting back to where he feels like he belongs.

Her phone lights up, drawing her attention away. She turned off the vibration after the first day. It turned out Wes _was_ planning to text her far more than he ever had before, maybe trying to remind her that he was there, out of a desperation to keep her from forgetting about him and falling into Frank's arms or some other such bullshit. It's suffocating. It's unearthing the stark contrast in their feelings that he indeed does feel far more deeply for her than she does him. She cares about him; she loves him—as a friend and someone who has been there for her—but she's most certainly not _in love_ with him. She's pretty sure she's never going to be.

 _Do you have anything you can give Annalise? She's pretty pissed at Frank right now._

Laurel's sure that he's gleeful with this development but that fact that he's telling her does show some growth, some recognition that this—Frank—is important to Laurel, and he doesn't want to see her hurt.

She makes a decision in that moment.

 _Not yet but should have something by the end of the day. Thanks for the heads up._

"I'm going to get some coffee from across the street," she announces once she hits send, standing from her spot at the small table in his room. "You want anything?"

Frank looks up at her, thinks for a moment before nodding and reaching for his wallet.

"I got it. You can get the next one." She shrugs it off with a smile. "The usual?"

"Yeah, that would be good. Thanks."

She smiles and grabs her purse before leaving the room. She waits until she's outside before making a call she really does not want to make. She's pretty sure it's her only option.

"Mija," the deep voice answers. "It's been too long."

"Hi, dad," she says tightly. "I need your help with something."

"I'm fine, thank you, Laurel. How are you? School going well?" He speaks in a derisive tone. "I don't hear from you for months, and this is how you address me."

Laurel rolls her eyes. "Dad, please, not now."

"No, I think now is a perfect time. You want something from me? You're going to do this my way."

Sighing audibly, she shakes her head. She just needs to get what she needs and get back before Frank gets suspicious. "Fine. What do you want?"

"You can start by telling me what you're doing in Texas with a man who ignored you for a year."

She's surprised for a split second before the familiarity of the situation comes back to her. Of course. Of course he's been spying on her, probably tapped her phone, listening to her calls.

"We're working. And I need help finding someone," she says shortly.

"Ah yes, because if you don't find this person, that won't be so good for Frank, right?"

"You reading my texts, too?"

"How else am I supposed to make sure you're dating men who deserve you?" he asks as if it's perfectly normal.

Laurel lets out an annoyed sigh as she crosses the street to the coffee shop on the other side.

"That's not your decision, and it's none of your business who I am dating. Stop monitoring me," she says, though she knows her objections are futile. Still, she makes a mental note to get a new phone and number as soon as they're back in Philly. "Besides, Frank and I are not dating; we're working, trying to track someone to help our client, and I need your help. Please," she adds. "My boss won't be happy with me if I go back empty handed. She could make or break my career."

She's pretty sure Annalise wouldn't hold this one against her—her sights more set on Frank—but her father doesn't know that and lives to try and fix things for her. If he thinks this will put her in his debt, he'll do it.

"What do you have?" he asks, relenting.

She returns from the coffee shop shortly after hanging up with her father, him promising to get back to her by the end of the day. She feels dirty going to this man, knows the information will be obtained illegally, but Frank needs this, needs to prove to Annalise that he's still useful, needs her back on his side. She's willing to do this for him, even if he doesn't deserve it.

"Took a while," he observes with a smirk as he takes the cup from her.

Laurel nods, sitting back at her computer. "Yeah, who knew it'd be so busy at this time in Laredo," she says with a light laugh, playing off her delay.

Frank takes a sip before filling her in on the past few minutes. "I think I have a lead. Want to take a drive? Check it out?" he asks, giving her an inquiring look.

She smiles, hopeful that maybe this is what they need and she can tell her father to shove it. "Let's go."

The lead—an address connected to their guy's former employer—is out in the middle of nowhere, right on the border, and an abandoned shed.

"Damn it!" Frank mutters under his breath as they come to a stop in front of the residence, if you could even call it that. He lets out a frustrated sigh and leans his head back against the seat while his hands grip the steering wheel tighter.

Laurel just looks out the window at the dilapidated building trying to determine its purpose. It doesn't look like anyone actually lived here but is so far out of the way that she wouldn't be surprised if it was involved in smuggling drugs or people, perhaps both.

"I don't know what to do," Frank says, something like desperation in his voice, and she turns her head to look at him. His eyes are closed and he's running his hands over his face wearily.

"We'll find something," she says softly. His eyes open and he glances over at her. She can see his resignation, the fact that he's ready to give up and go back empty handed. "I still have a couple of feelers out," she told him. "I could hear back at any moment. It's still early."

"Annalise doesn't think so," he notes.

"We've been doing everything we can."

"It's not good enough," he says roughly, looking straight out the window in front of him. "I never do anything right, only make a mess of things."

"I'm not so ready to give up," she tells him. "And the Frank I used to know wouldn't be either. You've done so much for her Frank. Yeah, you've messed up—we all have—but she'd be lost without you. It's not been easy with you gone," she admitted. "You know how to do things that the rest of us don't. She wouldn't be as successful as she is without you."

She can tell he doesn't believe her, isn't encouraged by her pep talk. He doesn't say anything more.

"Can we just give it a couple more days?" she pleads softly.

He looks at her, silent for a long moment and she can see the wheels spinning, trying to figure out what her request will actually change. It's clear he's lost his way.

His shoulders sag. "I guess if you think there's more we can do, then a couple more days can't hurt," he says, deciding to delay what he believes to be the inevitable back home.

They start the drive back to the hotel in silence and about half way there, she receives the text from her father, a name and address for the man's current employer in a town a few hours away according to the map on her phone. There's nothing more from her father, just the relevant information. She's sure he's filed this away to be used against her at a later date. But she doesn't care because Frank needs this win.

Right now, though, she needs to formulate a plan to bring this information to Frank. He'll want to know how she got it, and she can't tell him the truth. They can head out in the morning; there's no use in going tonight. It's already late in the day. That gives her the time to come up with something for Frank.

"Everything okay?" he asks about 30 minutes later.

Confused by the question, she responds, "Yeah, why?"

"You're quiet," he notes.

She smiles, shakes her head. "Just thinking through the information we have. See if we're missing something."

"Oh," he says quietly, "I thought Wes said something that upset you."

She just furrows her brow, having no idea what he's talking about.

"That text you got," he elaborates at the pregnant pause, "You've been silent since then. And I didn't have time to say something stupid."

"No, it was nothing." She laughs lightly, trying to play it off. She didn't realize he was paying so much attention. She also didn't realize until this moment that Wes is the only one that has been texting her, entirely too much.

"I know I haven't been here, and it's not my place, but I can be a good listener if you need to talk. I promise to withhold all smart-ass comments."

She smirks. "I didn't think that was possible for you."

He laughs at that, a full-bodied laugh that she hasn't heard from him in so long. She can't help but join, the sound infectious. "Well, for you I can try."

"I appreciate the offer," she says with a smile, "but it really was nothing."

About 20 minutes later, when they've almost arrived back at the hotel. She makes a point to look at her phone, scroll through her email, and pretend to find a new one from one of those feelers she claimed to have out.

"I've got something," she says softly.

"What?" he asks, glancing over at her for a split second before returning his eyes to the road.

"I had contacted someone, claiming I was looking for information for a child support claim. They sent me his current employer. In Quemado," she says, as though it's the first time she's heard the name.

She looks it up again on the map. "It's about 3 hours away," she tells him. "No wonder we couldn't find anything here."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure. They have it in their files," she tells him.

"Who was it you contacted?"

"One of the employment agencies," Laurel said, speaking the line she had been rehearsing in her head. "Said I worked for child support services."

"And they just gave it to you?" he asks.

She gives him a smile before asserting, "You're not the only one with charm."

He's suspicious, she can tell by the way he's eyeing her, but he doesn't push it further, letting the lie settle between them.

Once he pulls into the parking lot of the hotel, he looks over at her. "So, we should probably head out there then. Leave in the morning?" he suggests. "We can find a hotel once we get there. Hopefully, we'll make contact tomorrow."

Laurel nods. "I think that's the best plan," she agrees. "This is good, you know? A step in the right direction. You can bring it back to Annalise, and maybe this will satisfy her for a couple of days."

"When have you ever known Annalise to be satisfied?" he jokes, opening the door to get out of the car.

"True." She follows, walking beside him into the hotel and up to their rooms. "Then I guess we're done for the day. Nothing more to do here."

There's silence for a moment as they get into the elevator, and she's almost sure that will be the end of their conversation for now. He interrupts that thought before she can analyze just how much she doesn't want it to be the end.

"You know, I really thought we were out of options. I thought we had to go home, let Annalise take her shots, and maybe if she'd take some pity on me, I'd be allowed to stay in Philly rather than having her put me in jail or having to leave town again," he says, quietly admitting his fears, refusing to look at her.

She pauses, looking over at him, watching as he exits the elevator quickly as if he said something he's uncomfortable talking about. And she supposes he is. He never really opened up to her the way she wanted him to. She's pretty sure he's never opened up to anyone much, probably opened up more to her than anyone, except maybe Bonnie. But his relationship with Bonnie is very different. Bonnie's more like a sister to him. He was in love with her, more vulnerable with her, and all she really ever wanted was to know him.

"Well," she starts, trying to lighten the moment for both of them, "looks like I was right about not giving up. Maybe next time you'll remember that." Her voice is soft, encouraging almost. She walks over to her door and pulls out her key.

"Hey," Frank stops her before she enters her room. She looks at him expectantly. "Since we're taking off in the morning, how about you get dinner and drinks with me at the bar? You said you would," he reminds, that Frank Delfino charm once again on display.

She pauses to think it over but she's actually not even a little torn. They've been working well together, she's happy they made progress today—even if by less than earnest means—and they deserve to celebrate. She really could do without another night of room service anyway.

She smiles. "Okay," she agrees with a nod. "Let me change and we can head down in 15?"

"Sure. Just knock when you're ready," he tells her with a brighter smile before entering his room.

Forty minutes later and without too much teasing from Frank, they are getting seated in the bar. Laurel changed into some skinny jeans and a loose but flattering black top and touched up her makeup and hair. She's more comfortable than with the suit she had been wearing. Frank is still in his three-piece, minus the jacket and with his sleeves rolled up his forearms in a way she's always enjoyed. He has nice arms, strong arms, arms that made her feels safe, cared for, arms that she loved having wrapped around her.

After ordering food and drinks, she looks around the small dive bar connected to the hotel. There are more people here than she expected. It's clear some of them are locals, hotel employees too. Her eyes fall on the waitress from breakfast the other day; she's at the bar and talking to another girl.

"Have you been coming here every night?" she asks.

"Yeah, I figure it's better to stay close, not have to worry about a cab. And this place is low key, I like that."

"Lots of pretty girls, too. You probably have your pick. I'm sure you'll miss it when we leave."

Frank's brow furrows, and he follows her eyes to see the waitress.

"Brittany?" he asks, laughter clear in his voice.

"You were flirting with her at breakfast," she accuses. He laughs louder.

"What?" she asks, almost angry, not amused by him laughing at her. She's not stupid, and she saw how he was with Brittany. Even if she is jealous, he could at least be straight with her.

He shakes his head, lifting his glass of bourbon to his lips, hiding his smirk behind it. "You're far closer to her type than I am," he murmurs before taking a drink.

Laurel's confused for a split second before comprehending his words, her eyes widening.

"In fact, she and I have the same type. She couldn't stop going on about how hot you are," he continues. "She's not wrong."

"I thought—"

"She's friendly," he cuts her off, shrugging. "She really is fun to hang out with but I wasn't interested in looking for more anyway."

When she doesn't say anything, he continues, his tone more somber, "I've spent a lot of time in motel rooms over the past year, alone with my thoughts. And sitting alone at the bar isn't much better," he admits.

Laurel's eyes drift back over to Brittany, watching as she laughs animatedly at something the other girl has said, the truth in Frank's words more obvious now. Her phone starts to buzz, threatening to interrupt their moment. It's Wes calling her, and she doesn't want to do this.

"You can take it," she vaguely hears Frank offer but she's already made up her mind. Glancing down at it for only a second, she hits the red button and slides the phone into her purse. She doesn't want the interruption tonight.

"I'm glad you found a friend then," she says softly, looking back up at him. He seems surprised at her putting the phone away but she's still processing his words, the glimpse into what his life has been like. She has so many questions, wants to understand everything that happened, why it happened.

"I'm glad I'm here with you," he counters eventually, pulling her out of her thoughts.

She gives him a wry smile. "I haven't been a lot of fun."

Brushing off her words, he shakes his head and just like that any tension between them has dissipated. "A couple more drinks and you'll be the life of the party." He smirks before gesturing with his head to the side where some of the game tables are. "After we eat, I can teach you how to play pool," he offers.

"I know how to play pool," she informs him before laughing. "I'm just not that good."

He smiles. "Well, then, I'll help you get better."

She returns his smile, remembering a conversation she had with Bonnie months ago when she finally admitted out loud that she did, in fact, love Frank. "Okay, you're on."

Hours later, after Frank insists on paying the bill "for puttin' up with me," they are heading back up to their rooms. They had a good time down in the bar, Frank teaching her how to play pool and talking easily, the way they always seemed to be able to. But one unasked question has been on her mind all night; well, really since he left.

"Where have you been?" she asks, voice slurred as they walk from the elevator to their rooms, Laurel leaning more on Frank than she realizes.

"Laurel," Frank starts, completely in control despite drinking just as much. She can hear the warning, the weariness at having this conversation right now. Maybe at all.

Frank takes the key from her hand and opens the door. "You were gone for almost a year," she persists. "You ignored all my calls. I was worried about you."

"We're not going to talk about that," he cuts her off, guiding her over to the bed. He sits her down and starts to remove her clothes. There's nothing sexual about it. She tipsy—drunk, really—and he's trying to take care of her, get her comfortable and into bed. She appreciates it. She appreciates that he doesn't have to do this. That he cares about her. At least, that has to be why he's doing it. He could have just walked her to her room and left, gone back to the bar and the many prettier girls hanging out down there.

"Frank…" she whines softly.

"No." His tone is harsher this time as he starts working on her belt. She stiffens slightly at his lack of response, watches him quietly. She watches his concentration, completely focused on his task. If she wasn't tipsy she might have seen the way he's holding his breath, making it a point not to let his eyes wander, keeping himself together when maybe this is affecting him more than she thinks. If she wasn't tipsy, she'd realize just how much it's affecting her, as innocent as it is.

"Did I mean nothing to you?" she finally asks softly, lifting her hips so that he can remove her pants, leaving her in only her underwear and bra. "Because that's what it feels like. It's what it felt like every time you ignored my calls. For months. I thought something happened to you. I was so afraid something happened to you. That you were dead, and I'd never see you again."

Their eyes meet and he looks at her a long moment. There's longing in his eyes like he wants to say something, wants to tell her everything, but his resolve comes back as she sees his eyes shift away from her and he pulls away, heading for the mini-fridge and pulling out a bottle of water.

"Drink this," he tells her as he opens the bottle and hands it to her. She takes the bottle, continuing to watch him and maintain eye contact as she lifts it to her lips. She's not going to back down that easily, and he knows it. He sighs softly. "Course you mean something to me," he tells her quietly. "You're everything."

"Then why won't you tell me where you were? Why did you ignore me?"

He shakes his head. "Laurel, I can't have this conversation. Not now. You're drunk, probably not even gonna remember this in the morning. You need to drink that and get some rest. Come on," he says softly. He walks to the head of the bed and pulls her covers down, looking back at her expectantly.

"I'm not a child," she fires back. She slides up the bed, though, and moves under the sheets. "I was so worried about you," she repeats, looking up at him as she lays back, placing the water on the bedside table.

He hesitates before shaking his head, looking down at her softly. "I'm not worth it, Laurel. You've moved on, and I'm okay. The rest of it don't matter anymore. You're better off without me, and I didn't want to involve you any more than you already had been… Now, that's the last we're speaking of it. Get some rest. We have an early morning."

He ends the conversation there. She can tell that he's not going to say anything more, no matter how hard she pushes. He starts moving toward the door, only glancing back at her briefly as he opens it. "Good night, Laurel."

She doesn't respond, watches him leave and shut the door behind him. It's only a couple moments more before she hears his door shut, hears him quietly moving around his own room. There are tears streaming down her cheeks, and she angrily wipes them away. She hates that he still has this effect on her. She hates that he doesn't seem to care how much she had been hurting with him gone, hates how it's starting to feel like he meant more to her than she ever did to him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

When Laurel wakes, it takes a few minutes for everything to come back to her, how her night ended, how Frank brought her back to her room, but it soon does, and she's not quite sure she's going to be able to face Frank without it being awkward. She practically begged him to talk to her, open up to her, explain to her. She's always had to push him, even when they were dating. But she still doesn't know; he said that she meant something to him—wasn't worth her worry, too—but if she actually meant anything to him, he could do her the courtesy of answering her questions.

Her phone starts ringing as she steps out of the shower, and she fishes it out of her purse to see who it is. _Shit._ She forgot to call Wes back last night. She takes a breath to clear her mind before she answers.

"Hey," she says, trying to sound normal.

"Hey," he responds. He doesn't say anything more, maybe waiting for an explanation that she sort of feels like she doesn't owe him.

She sighs softly. "Sorry. Things were busy yesterday, and I went to bed earlier than usual," she lies.

"I called you several times."

"I'm sorry. I just saw that this morning. I meant to call you back after dinner but I collapsed." She cringes when she realizes what she said.

"After dinner? You went out?" he asks, voice suspicious, as if it's not okay for her to eat outside her room or, more likely, with Frank.

She shut her eyes. It had sort of become her routine to eat in her room since she's been here, calling him as she did. That clearly didn't happen last night.

"Yeah, I wanted something different… I really did mean to call you back," she tells him softly, voice sincere. She did. She was going to call him back but she got so wrapped up in everything else.

"Go out with Frank?" he asks, though it's clear that he already knows the answer.

"I did. We grabbed dinner at the place next door. It was nice to celebrate our progress, and I was tired of the same wedge salad I've been eating every night." She laughs, playing it off, making it seem like no big deal. Because it's not. He doesn't need to know that they had drinks, talked, joked around. He doesn't need to know how they played pool together, how Frank wrapped his arms around her to help guide the cue. He didn't need to know how Frank brought her back to her room, helped her out of her clothes, how she asked him about his feelings, how Wes wasn't even a thought in her mind. She didn't do anything wrong, and he didn't need to know.

There's silence on his end as if he knows that she's not telling him everything. But at least he also knows better not to ask her for more information than she's willing to give him. "Well, that's good then," he says, finally settling on a response. "I know Annalise was glad that you found where this guy was. Are you heading there today?"

"Yeah," she says, letting the conversation shift back to work talk. She's more comfortable with that. "It's a few hours away so we're going to drive up this morning and find a hotel. And then we're going to his employer to see if we can find him. We have more to go on at least. May be able to find something up there in public records, too."

"It sounds like this guy doesn't want to be found," Wes jokes.

She nods even though he can't see it. "Yeah, he's obviously into some shady stuff. Hopefully, we don't spook him by poking around. We need his testimony."

"You'll be fine," Wes encourages, and she smiles at the confidence she can hear in his voice. "You always have a way of making people feel comfortable. You were the best choice to send down there," he admits.

"Thank you," she says softly.

When he's like this, when he puts aside his insecurities and is just there for her, supportive of her, she sees what she likes about him, why her feelings strayed beyond friendship. She feels close to him. She feels like she has him in her corner. But really, was it any different with Frank? She's always felt close to Frank. She's always felt like he would do anything for her. They don't have the same friendship, though. They jumped right into something sexual—exciting and urgent and scorching—and she couldn't get enough of it. But it's that chemistry, that spark that makes her feel alive whenever he's near that she doesn't have with Wes. She's pretty sure that's not something that can develop over time. If they don't have that now, they never will.

"I have to go," he tells her then, "Annalise is expecting us soon."

She laughs. "Happy spring break," she says sarcastically.

"Right?" he chuckles. "I'll talk to you tonight?"

"Yes," she assures. "I'll call you around dinnertime."

"After dinner would be okay, too," he tells her, relaxing on his earlier worries. Maybe all he needed was to talk to her. This conversation must have been somehow reassuring for him, though she's not sure that it should have been. She shakes that thought from her head. Wes is the right choice. He's the safe choice. She has to let her head make this decision, too, and she knows, intellectually, that Wes makes the most sense. After everything she's learned about Frank, what kind of life could they really have? Besides, there's no indication that he even wants her anymore.

"Okay. I'll talk to you later," she tells him before hanging up and taking a moment.

Once she's ready, she heads down to breakfast, dragging her bag behind her. Frank is already seated at a table talking with Brittany, who is standing next to him. She walks towards them, and he cuts off mid-sentence the moment he sees Laurel.

"Good mornin', sleepyhead," he greets, tone friendly and without a trace of awkwardness. His smile is kind and soft; the one that's usually reserved just for her. And, yeah, she noticed a long time ago that he has a smile only for her. It's more sincere than what he gives most everyone else, like he's genuinely happy to see her, like his affection for her is so real and overwhelming that he can't help but express it, like he trusts that he can be himself around her more than with the others.

Brittany smiles at her too, giving her a soft greeting. Laurel returns it as she sits. "Same as yesterday?" Brittany asks, referring to the coffee and fruit plate she's ordered every day they've been here.

"That would be great. Thank you."

Nodding, Brittany leaves them, and Laurel looks over at Frank. He's watching her carefully, maybe trying to gauge how much she remembers. She confronts it proactively, knowing they can't pretend it didn't happen.

"I'm sorry I was a mess last night," she says softly.

Frank's eyes widen slightly, and he shakes his head. "You weren't," he asserts.

She almost rolls her eyes in response, knowing in her tone. "We both were there. That's not true."

"I had a great night," he tells her. "And nothin' that was said changes that. There's no reason we can't be friends and say the things we need to say… I don't want to mess anything up for you. I've done that enough. So, you weren't a mess, and you have nothin' to apologize for. Okay?" he asks hopefully.

She wants to tell him that it's not okay, that she still wants answers, that she still misses him. She was worried about him and, if he cares about her, he owes her answers. But she doesn't say any of that. Not right now. Not here. Maybe she never will. Maybe he was right last night.

"Okay," she responds instead, tone soft, a small smile on her face that's always been reserved for him.

xxx

"You know, you can get some more rest if you want," Frank offers, smiling over at Laurel from the driver's seat of their rental car. She wonders if he can see how heavy her eyes are, how horrible her head feels. "I'm sure you're still feeling the alcohol," he adds.

"You had just as much as I did," she points out, a small smile spreading across her face.

"Well, clearly, I'm better at holdin' my liquor than you are," he teases, and she can't help but laugh lightly because that is, seemingly, very true.

She shakes her head because she feels bad about going to sleep and leaving him to drive these three hours virtually alone. "I think I just need some more coffee," she protests. "Maybe we can stop before we get too far away from the city."

"Laurel," he starts softly, "get some rest. It'll be a couple of hours, and there's no reason not to. We have a lot to do when we get there," he reasons.

She looks at him a moment before nodding, giving in. She really is tired, and he makes an excellent point. "Okay. As long as you don't mind me just ignoring you to sleep."

"I really don't," he promises her.

So, with that, she settles further into her seat, pushing it back slightly for a better angle. She closes her eyes, and it's not long before she's out.

Eventually, she feels a hand—Frank's hand—on her arm, his deep voice calling to her. She wakes slowly, groggy, and glances around at their barren surroundings. They are in a parking lot with a small run-down building in front of them.

"Where are we?" she asks, voice still rough with sleep.

"At the only hotel in Quemado, according to my phone." He sounds apologetic as she glances back at the building, surprised that she missed the entire drive and is already there.

"This is it?" she asks, clearly weary at the structure in front of her. Frank doesn't seem too eager about it either.

"As long as it's clean, right?" he asks, trying to be positive. She nods, unconvinced that it will be but gets out of the car to go inside with him, leaving their bags for the time being. The lobby is empty, except for the older man behind the counter who's focused on the TV. Laurel lets Frank take the lead on getting their rooms as they get to the front desk.

"We have one room, one bed," the man tells them in response to Frank's request.

Laurel raises her eyebrows. "You don't have anything else?" she asks stupidly. "Is there another hotel around?"

The man laughs. "Darlin', we're a town of 250. You're lucky to get this," he tells her. She about to argue, not charmed by his condescension, but Frank steps in.

"We'll take it," he says, laying down his credit card, before turning to Laurel and meeting her widened eyes. "We'll figure something out," he tells her softly.

She sighs but nods in agreement. It doesn't seem as though they have much of a choice.

"Do you know the best way to get to Almora Enterprises?" Frank asks, rattling off the address as well.

The man eyes them guardedly. "What business do you have there?"

Laurel's about to tell him that it's actually none of his business but Frank, again, steps in before she can. "We work for a lawyer up north. Friend of our client works at Almora," he explains, and Laurel's a little surprised that he decided to go with the truth. The man doesn't seem too convinced but pulls out a map before starting to give Frank directions. Laurel looks around at the small run-down lobby. She's sure this is not the type of place that gets a lot of tourists, guesses most if not all of the clientele are renters.

She's struck then that this is probably the kind of place Frank stayed in while he was gone. It's not like he was earning money on the run, and she's sure he didn't have significant savings, was used to doing what he needed to survive. It saddens her to think about what he was doing all on his own. She wishes she knew.

"You ready?" Frank asks, coming up behind her and breaking her out of her thoughts.

She glances back at him and nods. "Yeah. Should we get our bags?" she asks.

"Nah, we can bring them in when we get back," he suggests. "But I need to go to the bathroom before we set out."

Nodding in agreement, Laurel lets Frank lead the way down the hall to their room on the first floor of the two-floor structure. He uses a traditional key to open the door, and they are greeted by a small room, with a small double bed, small table, and two chairs. Her eyes fall on the bed, realizing the implication.

"I was hoping for a couch or something," Frank mutters, almost under his breath. She doesn't respond though, just moves into the room and gingerly sits down on one of the chairs.

"I don't know that this meets the clean threshold," she says, serious as she eyes the old, worn, and stained carpet.

"The sheets look clean at least," he tries to offer before nodding toward the bathroom. "Be right out."

He seems unfazed but she's overwhelmed with her thoughts. If this were a year ago, she'd have no problem sharing a bed with him. In fact, she did so regularly. She'd probably be happy to be on this adventure with him, just the two of them, even with as stressful as it's been. She's been trying to move on, push away her feelings, but having his familiar weight and warmth next to her is going to dredge up more than she's ready for. She just knows it. It's really starting to feel like the universe is working against her, and she's not sure she wants to fight back.

xxx

After getting settled, they head out and across the small town to the border where this so-called enterprise exists. It's clearly a front for something, and Laurel's pretty sure they aren't going to have the luck she was hoping for. Frank seems to be just as doubtful, hesitantly glancing at the men stationed around the property as he parks. They share a look and she can see he's uneasy.

"Maybe you should stay in the car," he tells her.

Her brow furrows in response, and she gives him a wry smile. "And how do you expect to communicate with anyone here?" she asks dryly. "A gringo showing up alone? I'm pretty sure they'll shoot you on sight."

She's teasing; really, she is. But at the same time, they both know there's potentially some truth beneath her humor, some worry that this may not be the safest situation for them.

"Besides," she continues as she reaches for the door, "I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," he says confidently. "But I still worry about you."

Laurel just nods, giving him another smile before getting out. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

He reluctantly agrees but once they are out of the car and walking toward the entrance, a burly, older man strides up to them. The moment they spot him, she both sees and feels Frank move closer to her, angling himself slightly in front of her.

"Can I help you?" the man asks, voice gruff and thick with his accent. It's a little menacing, and contrary to his words, it's clear he's unwilling to provide any assistance.

"We're looking for Javier Cruz," Frank speaks up, chest puffed out to give off a sense of bravado. "We work for a lawyer up north. He's a friend of our client, and we need to talk to him."

The man crosses his arms, matching Frank's bravado and adding a hefty dose of 'I could kill you right now if I wanted to.'

"We were told he works here," Frank continues.

That gets the man's attention, and his eyes narrow. "Oh, you were? By who?"

"That's not important," Laurel says, stepping into the conversation before switching to Spanish, hoping to build a rapport, assure this man that they mean no harm, so that maybe they have a shot at walking away from here and with information. "We aren't government or law enforcement," she asserts in her native tongue. "We don't want to know anything about what you do here. We only need to talk to Javier."

The man appraises her for a moment. "And why should I believe you?" he responds, easily switching to Spanish.

"The information as to his whereabouts was provided by Jorge from Monterrey," she tells him confidently, hoping she's talking fast enough that Frank didn't pick up her father's name. She figures it's best to cut to the chase here. She doesn't want to stay here any longer than they need to, and this is where they'll end up anyway. Her father has his hands and his men in so many pots that there's no way this man in front of her doesn't know who she's talking about, doesn't know how serious his involvement would be.

The man's eyes widen in recognition. "He's not here."

"You expect me to believe that?" she asks.

"He does work here," he starts, falling over himself to give her the information, "but he's not here today."

"Then he'll be here tomorrow?"

"Maybe," he shrugs, "We don't exactly follow a schedule." She can tell he's being honest, and it makes sense. Whatever they are doing here, it's hardly nine-to-five.

She nods cautiously. "Fine. We'll be back tomorrow but do not say anything to Javier about our visit, or I will put in a call," she threatens, knowing that she has the upper hand in this situation now.

She notices then that even though Frank is standing beside her, completely lost to what's happening, he's still alert, posed to make sure this man knows not to mess with her, that Frank's the muscle and he's not afraid to do his job.

The man simply gives her an understanding nod and wraps up the conversation, backing away from them before heading inside. She turns to Frank to see his confusion clear.

"He's not here today," she tells him. "We can try again tomorrow." She gently grabs his arm and leads him away from the building, back to their car.

"He told you that Javier works here?" he asks, confused about how she got the information.

She waits until they are back in the car before she explains. "Yeah, once I was speaking in Spanish with him, I think it made him feel more comfortable, that we weren't here to cause any harm or get anyone in trouble. They don't have schedules though," she notes. "So, I don't know if he'll be back tomorrow."

Frank starts driving away as he takes in her information. "What do you think they do here? Drugs?"

"Among other things I'm sure. Right on the border is good for all manner of smuggling," she observes.

Frank scratches at his beard. He's more relaxed now that they've gotten away but she can see some residual worry over everything. "Who's to say they won't tip him off? Or maybe he is there but they're saying he's not."

She can't very well tell him that she threatened the man with her father's wrath. Frank wouldn't be okay with his involvement. Not because he's against asking for help but rather because Frank knows what her father did to her, how much she hates him. She thinks that Frank wouldn't want to put her through this, not after trying for so long to get away from what happened. She's not so sure that she's made the right decision if she's being honest but she also knows that they would have nothing if not for Jorge. And if they went back to Annalise with nothing, she doesn't know what that would mean for Frank.

"I don't think they will," she says with a cautioned confidence. "But we should see what happens tomorrow and take it from there," she suggests.

Frank thinks about it for a moment and nods, letting out a breath. "Yeah, okay. That's a good idea."

After a few moments more, he glances over at her, amusement in his eyes replacing the worry and a small smirk on his face. "That was really hot, you know?"

Her eyes crinkle in confusion and she lets out a light laugh. "What was?"

"You being all badass back there, takin' control with the Spanish, getting him to tell you what you needed," he recounts, eyes on the road in front of him. "I felt pretty useless but I'm glad I was there witness it."

She just laughs softly, looking out the passenger window and trying to hide her blush. "Yeah, well, I learned from the best," she says, letting the words rest for a few moments before looking over at him, his chest puffed out slightly. "I'm talking about Annalise," she teases.

He joins her laughter, and she smiles at the sound. She has learned so much from Annalise. But she's also learned from him. She's felt at times that she was his protégé, going with him on stakeouts, waiting in his car for information from a source, all of the other things she learned simply by watching him. She was Frank's girl in more ways than one, and though she hated the inherent misogyny behind the name in the beginning, she started seeing the title in a different light as they grew closer and became more, and maybe she even found a little fondness for it. It wasn't all bad between them. Really, it wasn't bad at all until the end. And if she's truly being honest with herself, she misses it. As much as she shouldn't.

"Want to get some dinner somewhere?" he asks as the laughter dies down. "I doubt the hotel will have anything and there wasn't much around. We could take a little drive since we can't do anything else until tomorrow."

"That sounds great," she tells him with a smile. "I'll look for somewhere on my phone."

xxx

They end up at a small, locally-owned Mexican restaurant. A true Mexican restaurant that makes Laurel long for her childhood and summers with her mom. Frank seems to enjoy it too and is interested in this place that makes her happy, asking questions about what he should try and stealing food off of her plate when he thinks she's not paying attention. She jokingly threatens to stab him with her fork if he keeps taking her food but that doesn't deter him. She almost follows through on the threat.

Dinner is great. As with the night before, they have fun, their conversation easy and unencumbered. The more they spend time together, the more they move closer to the relationship they had before everything happened and he left. This time, though, it feels like they are actually becoming friends. They had gotten to know each other in some ways when they were dating, but it obviously wasn't as deep as she had wanted. Even if Frank still isn't talking to her about what happened the past year, she feels like she's learning more and more about who he is. And she likes that. She still likes _him_.

When they drag their suitcases into the small room after arriving back at the hotel, she's reminded of the fact that they only have one bed. One, small bed. She moves into the room and glances around as if another option will magically appear but she knows they're out of luck.

"I'll take the floor," Frank says, breaking her out of her thoughts. She looks up at him and sees that he's completely serious about the offer as he walks to the closet, pulling out an extra blanket, before looking around for the best spot.

"Frank, that's not—"

"I don't mind," he cuts her off. "I've slept in worse places than this."

She sighs and shakes her head before walking over to him. She rests her hand on his arm before he can spread out the blanket and waits until he makes eye contact with her before continuing. "That's really not necessary, Frank. We can both fit on the bed, and it's ridiculous if we can't just be adults and share."

He gives her a small smile but doesn't quite seem convinced. She smirks and takes the blanket from him, starting to fold it back up. "Plus, the floor looks disgusting. Who knows what diseases you'll pick up from down there," she jokes and walks to the closet to put the blanket away. "And I don't want you to pass them on to me."

"You sure the pup—Wes won't be upset by this development?" he asks, glancing to the bed hesitantly.

"I don't have to report every detail of my life to Wes," she says, looking back to him. "Besides, we're just sleeping in the same bed. We're not doing anything wrong."

She knows that's not entirely true. Because really, she could let him sleep on the floor. They could set it up nicely, and he'd probably be fine. But, selfishly, she wants him next to her. She's missed his presence beside her. They aren't doing anything wrong but she knows that her thoughts aren't entirely innocent. She knows that even though nothing is going to happen, Wes wouldn't see it as innocent either.

"I'm going to take a shower before getting ready for bed," he tells her, rummaging through his suitcase for the things that he needs.

Laurel just nods, waiting for Frank to go into the bathroom and start the shower before getting up to change into her pajamas, shorts and an oversized t-shirt. She'll shower in the morning instead. She reaches for her phone and sits down on the edge of the bed as she searches for Wes in her call list and hits the green button. It doesn't take him too long to answer.

"Hey," he says softly. "I was hoping you'd call soon."

"Yeah?" she asks, her tone just as soft and quiet. "That's sweet."

There's a moment of silence, and she imagines that he's smiling, pleased with her response. "Did you make it to the new town?"

She nods to no one before answering. "We did. There's not a lot here but we've found where he works. He wasn't there today, so hopefully, tomorrow is more fruitful."

"You'll get it. I think Annalise is just pleased that there's some sign of progress," he tells her.

Laurel's eyes dart to the bathroom door. "Has she said anything about Frank? Is she still upset with him?"

There's more silence but this one isn't as comfortable. She's starting to feel the tension slip in. "I think he's fine for now." His tone is shorter, clipped, before he changes the subject. "How's the hotel?"

She lets him change the subject, not wanting to start anything with Frank in the next room. "It's fine. Older and a lot smaller," she says with a laugh, not mentioning the fact that there's only one room. She doesn't need to tell him. She's doing nothing wrong.

"You planning to be up a lot longer?" he asks, and she notices the way his voice drops, recognizing that she needs to stop anything before he gets started.

"Actually, I'm really tired. It's been a long day. I just wanted to say hi before going to sleep," she tells him, tone apologetic.

"You sure I can't persuade you?" he asks, that edge in his tone that she's gotten used to hearing since Frank's been back.

She bites her lip as the shower shuts off. "I'm sorry. I'm really tired. I should go and get some rest."

"Is something going on?"

She shakes his head even though he can't see her. "No, nothing is going on. I'm just tired, Wes. That's all. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," he says. "Sleep well."

"Good night." She ends the call as Frank comes out of the bathroom, wearing boxers and a white t-shirt, hair wet and mussed. He's perfectly covered but this is all starting to feel more real than she was expecting.

"Everything okay?" Frank asks her cautiously.

She gives him a small smile. "Did you hear that?"

Shaking his head, he stuffs his dirty clothes into a bag. "Not really but you look upset. Did you tell him we were sharing a room?"

"No," she answers quickly. "I don't think it's necessary for him to know."

She knows that Frank is fully aware that she's not telling Wes because he'll be upset. She can see him thinking through what he wants to say next, some comment about how he's monitoring her again or something, she's sure. He must think better of it because instead he sighs and shakes his head.

"Did he say anything about Annalise?" he asks, moving away from the more dangerous conversation.

Laurel shrugs and stands, moving to her bag to find her phone charger and get it set up. "Just that he thinks she's satisfied for the time being. She's glad we've made some sort of progress."

He plugs in his own phone before walking over to his usual side of the bed. "I'm worried this is as far as we're goin' to get," he tells her, voicing his concern as he sits down and gets into bed.

She watches him a moment. This all feels so familiar, talking with him as they get ready for bed, climbing in next to him. It doesn't feel like they've been apart for a year. She lays down on her back and looks up to the ceiling. "I don't think we should stress about it yet. We're in a good place right now. We'll find him and get him to come back with us before the trial starts."

When he doesn't say anything more, she glances over at him only to find him looking back at her, his eyes conveying his fear. She gives him a small smile. "I know you're worried. That a positive outcome is more important for you than it is for me. But I'm in this with you, okay? We're going to figure this out, and Annalise we'll be satisfied. It will be okay. I promise," she finishes in a whisper.

She watches him process her words, nodding slightly as he takes in a breath before letting it out slowly. "Yeah, okay," he agrees quietly. "I know you're right. It just feels like we're getting blocked at every turn. But we just got here, so I'll try to hold off on freakin' out."

He laughs lightly, maybe trying to convince her he's fine. She joins him though she knows that worry is still there. They can't do anything about it tonight.

"We should get some rest," he says then as if he's reading her mind.

She nods in the darkness. "We should," she agrees before she rolls onto her side, facing away from him. In the silence that follows, her senses are heightened. She can feel him settling into his space, she can hear his breathing, smell his shampoo. She closes her eyes, trying to control her own breaths and not think about what's next.

When she wakes a few hours later, she can tell it's still the middle of the night. The only light shining through the window is the glow from street lamps in the parking lot. It doesn't take her long to realize her predicament either. She's still on her side but Frank's behind her now, arm around her waist, his body molded to hers. She can hear him breathing softly in her ear.

She shouldn't be surprised that she's woken to find them like this. They've always gravitated to each other. It's always been there, something invisible pulling them together, especially when they were sleeping but even when they weren't. Even when he was who knows where, she could still feel it, something deep inside her pulling in every direction, searching for him.

She considers staying like this, in his arms. It's not hurting anybody, and, honestly, it was the deepest sleep she's had in a long time. She doesn't even know why she woke up but then he pulls her closer, flush against him. She can tell from his steady, quiet breaths that he's still asleep and doesn't realize he's doing this. It's subconscious, and that's when she feels it, realizes what it was that woke her up, hard and big pressing against her lower back.

Now she knows she can't stay this way. She takes a breath and rolls away slightly, trying to pull out of his arms but not wake him. She doesn't want to make this uncomfortable between them. It doesn't work though. He keeps her tightly to him, and she knows the only way out of this to say something.

"Frank," she whispers softly, hoping not to startle him. He doesn't move, doesn't make any indication that he's heard her. He just moans softly into her ear as he squeezes her close, the way he always used to when he was in a deep sleep.

She sighs. "Frank," she says a little bit louder, rubbing her hand gently across his forearm but insistently trying to wake him.

He stirs. "What is it?" he murmurs softly, pulling her against him again. He clearly hasn't realized what's going on but when he doesn't say anything else, she tries once more to move away from him only for him to make a sound of protest and once again pull her back to him.

She closes her eyes, part of her just wanting to settle in and go back to sleep. But now that she's aware of the situation, she's aware of how this is crossing a line that will only make her feel guilty next time she talks to Wes if she doesn't stop it. "Frank," she says his name again, sharper this time.

That seems to get his attention. "What's wrong?" he asks her, voice sounding more alert.

She sighs audibly, not sure how to explain to him what should be obvious. "You're just… a little too awake," she tells him, momentarily wondering why she's not as concerned about the spooning as she is about the rest of it.

It's a couple moments before she feels him letting go of her, becoming aware of his surroundings. And it's only a couple moments more before he realizes he's pressing against her back and rolls away from her quickly. "Shit," he breathes out softly. "Sorry. I'm sorry, Laurel. I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay," she cuts him off. "It happens, right?"

"Still, I'm sorry, Laurel. I didn't mean to… Any of it."

She sighs, shaking her head. "It's fine, really. It's not a big deal," she insists.

He seems to accept that, letting out a quiet but audible breath. She stays on her side, facing away from him. She doesn't want this to be awkward, doesn't want him to feel bad or uncomfortable. But her entire body is thrumming; the feel of him spooning her, holding her close, and the warmth of his body is still vividly present.

"Sorry," he mumbles suddenly before getting up off the bed and heading to the bathroom. She hears the shower start. She knows what he's probably about to do; she hates that she wishes he was doing it with her instead. She closes her eyes and burrows into the bed and tries not to imagine him in there, knowing how he would look; she tries not to picture the times before that she's woken up with him just like this, and how those times ended very differently.

But it's probably not even what she thinks. He might just be taking a cold shower, not even thinking about her. Maybe he's using it as a way to get space between them, hoping that she'll fall back asleep and it's not going to be awkward when he returns to bed, that it's not going to turn into something they're not ready to talk about.

She turns her face into the pillow and lets out a frustrated groan. She doesn't know how much longer she can pretend she's not still completely in love with Frank.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Two days later, Laurel and Frank are moving around each other in the small hotel room as they get ready to head out for the day. They haven't had luck with Javier's employer but Laurel's pretty sure he hasn't been tipped off. It's clear this guy is unreliable, and Laurel's starting to think he's not going to end up being the best witness. Frank made a similar observation the night before but they both know saying such to Annalise is not the best option.

They are quiet as they get ready but it's not too uncomfortable, even though she would expect it to be. For the most part, since that first incident, they've been able to stay on their own side of the bed, except for a moment the night before. This time, when she woke up, it wasn't Frank at fault. She had gravitated toward him; he was on his side facing away from her; and she was spooning him, her arm wrapped around his waist, face pressed into his back. She didn't want to move; she wanted to stay that way, taking in his familiar, comforting smell; taking in everything she's missed. And she has missed him, missed this, having him next to her at night.

But she knows that this can't be what she wants. She hasn't let her head cede control to her heart. And her head is telling her that he can't be who she wants. Frank's respected the situation since he woke with her in his arms two nights ago. He hasn't made it awkward and has stayed on his side since. So, even though she wanted to stay wrapped around him, she knew that wasn't fair to him.

That's when she felt it, Frank squeezing her hand. She thought he was asleep, maybe he thought the same about her. But he must have felt her intake of breath then because he went still for a few moments more before squeezing her hand again, this time pressing it against his chest, his heart, for just a second before letting go. They both knew that nothing could happen and so she slowly rolled away from him, turning over so that she was facing away, and sighed softly before trying to go back to sleep. She's pretty sure neither of them did.

"Laurel," Frank calls, his voice pulling her out of the memory.

"Yeah?" she responds, looking over at him as she threads an earring through her ear.

"You okay?" he asks as he adjusts his tie.

She nods and gives him a small smile. He hasn't said anything about what happened, and she's pretty sure he's not going to. She's not either; instead, she'll move on as if everything is normal.

"I was just thinking," she tells him before shifting the conversation, "I wonder if we should check out the nearby towns, see if we can find anything in public records. Then we can check out Almora again."

Frank thinks about it and nods. "Yeah, we need to do something else. I'm going to go crazy if we don't get something new. Annalise is expecting a report tonight on where things stand."

Laurel lets out a breath, trying to stem the stress she's already feeling. "I really don't know what more to do," she says. Her mind drifts to her father, knowing she still has more options there. But she would rather not go back to him again if she can help it.

Frank shrugs. "Let's try what you said, maybe we'll have some luck, even if it's small."

So, they set out, driving from one town to the next, all small, all barren. The day before, they went down to the county courthouse in Eagle Pass about 30 minutes away, put in some public records requests and greased the wheels a little so that maybe they'd get results faster. Today is no different, except they head further out, other nearby towns and offices that could potentially have records for Javier. Some offices agree to complete their request while they are there; others require the necessary paperwork. They do what they can and hope for the best but at least it feels like they are doing something.

Wes has been texting her more than usual today but she's been so busy that she hasn't been very responsive. So, when they are at lunch, Laurel excuses herself to make a call. She steps outside and looks down at her phone.

 _We need to talk_ , reads the most recent message from Wes.

She glances up at the restaurants and catches Frank's gaze through the window before he glances away guiltily. She looks his way for several moments before turning her back and hitting the green button on her phone. She doesn't have to wait long before he answers.

"Hey," he says, and she can hear that his voice is tight.

"What's up?" Laurel asks. "Has Annalise said something?"

He scoffs. "Yeah, she has but not about what you think."

She's confused and doesn't hesitate to ask, "What do you mean?"

"Were you going to tell me you were sharing a room with Frank?"

Her silence lingers, not sure how to respond, not sure how Wes found out. He fills her in without her having to question it.

"Annalise let it slip. I guess Frank told Bonnie when he reported the expense or something."

Of course Frank did. She's a bit annoyed that he couldn't have kept that tidbit to himself when he knew she wasn't telling Wes.

"I didn't think it was a big deal," she says, trying to maintain an innocent tone. "We didn't have another option, so we're making do."

He's silent for a long moment, and then: "Are you still in love with him?"

He's blunt about it, no longer willing to let her be confused about the whole situation.

She pauses, not sure how to answer, not really wanting to do this now.

"I'm with you, Wes," she says.

She must have been quiet for too long; he must have heard the lie hidden in her words because he scoffs again. She's also getting a bit annoyed by that sound.

"But you don't want to be."

She responds almost instantly. "That's not true."

"It's not?" he fires back, and she's not sure what he wants to hear. She's silent for another long moment. "That's what I thought."

"No," she asserts before sighing. "I'm confused, okay? I don't know what the right response is here. And it doesn't really matter. Nothing is happening between Frank and I. We're not like that anymore. He knows I'm with you, and he's respected that."

"I'm sorry for standing in your way, then," he responds sarcastically, and she's starting to get bothered that it seems like they can't ever have an adult conversation when it comes to Frank, that he can't understand the complexities here.

She sighs, frustration clear. "That's not what I'm saying, Wes. Please stop," she tells him. "I'm not saying I want this to be over."

"I don't think you know what you want."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I'm tired of waiting for you to realize that I'm the one you should be with, that he's not good for you. You said yourself that he's not a good man," he reminds her, almost petulantly.

She closes her eyes and stifles her impulse to defend Frank. Running her hand through her hair, she starts to walk down the sidewalk, unable to keep still.

"Wes, don't be like this," she pleads but it's as if he doesn't hear her when he continues on.

"I knew going on this trip was a bad idea," he says, taking them back to their original fight. "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep wondering if you're falling back in love with him."

"That's not what's happening," she lies. The truth is that she's never stopped loving Frank but she knows that Wes is right in some ways. Her head is telling her that she shouldn't let Frank back in. And she doesn't even know what it is that Frank wants from her anymore, if anything.

She sighs. "Wes, can we just talk later? I have to go back to work and we're both upset. Let's take some time to think about everything and figure it out later."

"Yeah, okay," he responds before hanging up on her. She takes a few minute to compose herself before turning to head back into the restaurant. Frank is clearly ready to go but waiting patiently, not wanting to interrupt her.

"Everything okay?" he asks gingerly.

"Yeah, fine," she breathes out, not meeting his concerned eyes. "Ready to get back to it."

He nods and observes her closely, silently, and stands from the table. "Yeah, let's go."

She walks quietly to the car, thoughts running through her head a mile a minute. She doesn't know how to feel. She's pretty sure Wes just broke up with her. Or that he will if she doesn't tell him what he wants to hear. She glances over to Frank as he types the next address into his phone.

She does love him. She really does. But she doesn't know him. How can she be sure that it's him she loves and not some idea of him? She knows Wes; he talks to her, doesn't lie to her, and he didn't leave her without a word for a year.

Frank meets her eyes then and a familiar look washes over him. He still loves her. It's there in his gaze, mixed in with sadness.

"What happened, Laurel?" he asks, tone dripping with genuine concern. She looks at him a moment, weighing her thoughts before deciding to open up.

"Things are just confusing," she admits softly, knowing he'll understand the meaning of her words, the heaviness behind them.

He seems to get it immediately. He always does. He doesn't voice anything at first but he nods, holding her gaze.

"Is that something we should talk about?" he asks cautiously, maybe hopefully.

She shrugs. "I don't know."

He frowns slightly before looking forward. He's guarded, she thinks, almost afraid of putting anything out there, where she can reject it.

"We should get to the next destination. It's getting late," he says as he starts the car. Laurel silently agrees, fastening her seatbelt and facing forward as he pulls out of the parking lot and starts their drive.

xxx

By late afternoon, they are arriving back in Quemado, with no real luck.

"Should we stop by Almora? Just in case," Laurel asks.

Frank nods, glancing over at her. "I guess it can't hurt. One more fruitless endeavor to report back to Annalise." The anxiety in his tone is palpable, and she tries to come up with something helpful to say, something positive, but she just doesn't have it.

Instead, she looks down at her phone as they continue to drive. She sends a text message off to Wes before checking her email. That's when she sees the new email from an unknown address. Once she opens it, she realizes it's from the county courthouse they went to the day before.

"Here's something," she says, after reviewing it. "Got a hit from yesterday's visit. A mugshot and a criminal record. Mostly drug-related."

Frank sighs. "Of course. At least we know what he looks like now."

"Doesn't really help his credibility though," she notes.

"No," Frank agrees, defeated, "It really doesn't."

They arrive at Almora, and though they've come back here a few times now, Frank is no more relaxed, sticking as close to her as he can without touching.

"Ah, it's my new friends," calls the burly man—Ernesto—who they met the first day, as they walk towards the building. "I have news for you."

His tone is at odds with his stature and position in this business but Laurel knows it's because of who he thinks she represents.

"Good news?" Laurel asks, keeping the conversation in English.

He nods as he reaches them. "Would you like something to drink?" he offers, gesturing back to the building.

Frank shakes his head. "We'd rather just get the information we need and be on our way."

Ernesto looks over at Laurel, switching to Spanish. "This gringo doesn't understand the importance of hospitality, does he?"

She gives him a tight smile and responds in kind. "We do appreciate it but we are busy. So, we'd really just be curious to know your news. I take it Javier isn't here?"

Ernesto shrugs as though it's inconsequential. "Suit yourself," he responds before switching back to English to include Frank. "Javier isn't here today, no, but I have heard from him, and I expect him back tomorrow around noon," he supplies, pleased with himself for being helpful.

"Does he know we're looking for him?" Frank asks, almost impatient. She understands his desire to get out of here but she places a hand on his forearm, silently pleading with him to relax.

Ernesto fixes him with a look but responds anyway. "Of course not. I have not said a word."

"Thank you," Laurel interjects. "We'll be here then."

She says her goodbyes and leads Frank away and back toward the car.

"What'd he say before?" Frank asks as they get in.

Laurel smirks. "Just remarking that you're a rude gringo," she tells him, amusement in her tone. "I have to say, this time I agree."

Frank laughs lightly. "Yeah, well, we both know you don't mind this gringo, rude or not."

Her smirk turns to a small smile. "Yeah," she says softly, "I suppose that's true."

It's quiet for a few minutes until they get back on the main road. "At least you'll have something for Annalise, now."

He shakes his head. "No, this is nothing to her. She's going to bitch about how we haven't made contact, and she's right. This isn't a guarantee. What happens when he doesn't show up tomorrow? What happens when he runs as soon as we talk to him? I know she wants to help the client but I don't see how Javier will. This is an impossible task."

Laurel's silent as he rants, as his stress grows more and more. She knows he's right but it won't serve either of them well for her to go negative too.

"Let's just give it one more day. We'll see what happens tomorrow. This is as close as we've been the entire trip," she reminds. "Let's see it through."

Once they get back to the hotel, after stopping for dinner, Frank decides that he can't put off talking to Annalise any longer. Laurel tries to give him a pep talk before stepping outside to make a call herself. There's nothing she can do in the room with Frank because Annalise isn't going to want to hear from her. And she needs to deal with her own issues. She looks down at her phone. She had sent a text to Wes before arriving at Almora, and though she can see that he read it shortly after she sent it, he hasn't responded.

She hits the button to call him and holds the phone to her ear, listening as it rings and rings and rings until eventually, his voicemail picks up.

She lets out a sigh. "Hey, it's me," she says after the beep. "I know things are uncertain right now but we need to talk about this. I know I've been confused, and I still am, but this isn't the way to handle the situation, Wes. You're my best friend, and we should be able to talk. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that we were sharing a room but… It feels like you haven't trusted me this entire trip, even before I left, and I don't know what kind of relationship we can really have if you don't trust me. So, we need to talk. Call me back."

She hangs up, her heart feeling heavy because although she's pleading with him to talk to her, she knows that she's not being entirely fair to him, that she's not telling him everything.

She sends another text then.

 _Hey, are you around?_

He reads it almost instantly but after a few minutes, he doesn't respond. So, she tries again.

 _Can we please talk? I know Annalise is on the phone with Frank, can you take a couple of minutes?_

Again, the phone notes that her message has been read but no response. She's getting annoyed now. It's not fair for him to be like this with her, to not even bother to respond.

 _I don't know what kind of relationship this is if you're just going to ignore me._

She only waits a few moments this time before she decides she's done. It's clear he is just going to ignore her, and she's not going to stand out in the hall begging him to talk to her. Instead, she takes a breath before heading back into the hotel room.

When she returns to the room after being unable to reach Wes, she finds Frank still on the phone with Annalise, her muffled shouts audible from where she stands by the door. He looks up at her with a helpless shrug. She walks further into the room and sits on the other chair, trying to make sense of it from one side.

"No, I'm not saying we're giving up," Frank defends, a slightly argumentative tone in his voice. "I'm just saying this guy is unreliable, and both of us are wondering if he'd even make a good witness. If we actually find him and get him to Philly, will he even help our case? He's clearly involved in some shady shit. The prosecution will have a field day," Frank says, stating their case.

Laurel's impressed that he's chosen to say something, knowing Annalise is testing him.

She hears some more muffled shouts, before Frank sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "No, I'm not tryin' to be the lawyer here," he says, resignation in his tone. "Yeah, we'll try something new tomorrow… okay. Yeah, okay."

He hangs up then and almost slams the phone down on the table. "She's not even listenin' to reason," he says, shaking his head.

Laurel bites her lower lip. "I don't even know if this is about the witness anymore," she observes. "Maybe it was in the beginning because otherwise, she wouldn't have sent me with you. But now I just think it's about punishing you some more."

She can tell that he's had the same thought when he doesn't try to say she's wrong. He just looks over at her.

"So, what do I do? We've tried everything."

She's not actually sure she's ever seen him so defeated. And she doesn't really know what to tell him. If Javier is there tomorrow, there's no telling how that will go down. She makes the decision then to call her father tomorrow, do something more to help him. They can't go back without Javier.

"I think you don't worry about it anymore tonight," Laurel tells him quietly. His brow furrows as confusion lines his face.

"We've gotta figure this out, Laurel. I can't go back empty-handed."

"We will figure it out," she promises calmly, attempting to assure him, "but there is nothing we can do tonight and you need to relax. You're too stressed. I say we go get some alcohol and come back here and play a game or something. Just take our minds off of everything. We both need to get away from it."

"Play a game?" he asks, amusement in his smirk. She rolls her eyes.

"Or watch TV. Order a movie. We can do anything. I just think some alcohol will help with the whole relaxing part."

He gives her a genuine smile and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "It can't hurt," he agrees.

It doesn't take them long to find a liquor store and return to the hotel. Frank offers to find something on TV, while Laurel heads into the bathroom to change into her PJs. She's been glancing at her phone on and off since she texted Wes for some sign of where things stand but he's not responded. She's annoyed and a little angry because she deserves better from him. He's supposed to be her best friend—her boyfriend—but it doesn't feel that way.

After washing her face, she returns to the bedroom to find Frank already in his boxers and a white t-shirt, fixing them drinks. He holds the cup out to her and smiles. "I think this was a good idea."

She takes the drink from him, returning the smile. "Thank you," she says quietly as she walks over to her side of the bed, climbing in.

"What did you find to watch?" she asks, glancing at the TV as she takes a drink.

"Some random movie," he tells her with a shrug as he follows her to the bed, sliding in on his side. "I was thinking we could play a game like you suggested," he says, tone light, "maybe Truth or Dare or we find a deck of cards, play some Strip Poker?"

Laurel looks over at him, momentarily unsure if he's being serious or not until he gives her a playful wink and she can't help but roll her eyes and laugh.

"Nice try," she teases back.

"Eh, I figured it couldn't hurt; you might've said, 'yes'." He shrugs. "Plus, it was worth it to hear you laugh."

He looks at her a moment as he grows more serious.

"You've been stressed today, too," he observes, "If I'm going to relax, so are you." He glances down at the phone in her hand with a pointed look.

She sighs softly and nods. "Okay," she acquiesces, placing it on the bedside table, face down so that she can't see it if someone—Wes—replies.

"Let's find a different movie," she suggests as she settles back in and takes another drink.

Frank looks at her a moment, weighing his words, she thinks. There's a gravity behind his gaze, one that she can't turn away from. "Or we could just talk," he offers eventually.

"We're relaxing, aren't we? I don't see how talking about all the problems in my life is going to help," she notes.

"We can talk about things other than our problems," Frank tells her with a shake of his head before pushing forward. "How has school been this year?"

She doesn't respond for several moments, unsure if whether or not this is the best road to go down. She's not sure how this won't end up somewhere more serious. And serious is not what she wants right now.

"We always used to be able to talk," Frank says, cutting into her thoughts. He sounds hurt. She can see the sadness in his eyes. "Some of my favorite memories are of us drinking in my living room, just talkin', or lying in bed after some amazing sex talkin' bout our days."

She fights the urge to remind him a lot has changed and that it's his fault. But he's also not wrong. She's always loved those quiet moments with him, when it was just the two of them and the outside world didn't matter. She remembers them fondly.

"It's been okay," she says, relenting. She watches as he visibly relaxes and takes another drink as she continues. "I've had to refocus and work twice as hard to salvage my GPA but I'm making progress. I've gone up a few points."

"Doesn't surprise me. I always knew you were smart. You'll get there."

She smiles at the compliment and thinks of a dozen or so questions she could ask him, landing on one that has nothing to do with where he's been. _That_ would not lead them to a good place.

"How are your parents?" she asks.

"Doin' great," he tells her with a smile. "My ma asks about you often. You made quite an impression. With my dad, too."

"I did?"

"Yeah, ma was already planning a wedding after dinner that night." She knows he's joking but that the sentiment behind it is real, and she can't help but let her smile widen.

"I really liked them, too. I remember that night you told me not to make fun of you but, really, I think that's when I started falling for you," she admits, her tongue looser as the alcohol hits her system. "You have this big, loud, close family, and I've always wanted that. I saw you differently, too. You weren't just the guy I was having really great sex with, you…" she drifts off.

He tries to catch her eye, curiosity peaking. "I, what?"

She looks him in the eye and shrugs slightly. "You became more for me. It was like I started uncovering the real Frank, not just who you were trying to be with me. You were Frank the son and Frank the brother and Frank the uncle, and seeing you with your family, I felt like, changed something with us. We were deeper after that," she noted. "You actually let me know you that night. That's all I really wanted with you."

"And then I went and fucked it all up," he says, looking down at his drink.

His tone is still light, though self-deprecating, and so she still gives him a smile and keeps her response light. "Yeah, well, we've all fucked up at some point," she says with a laugh before growing serious. "But what I'm trying to say is… you shouldn't hide that guy, shouldn't hide who you are behind some tough-guy playboy. There's nothing wrong with just being Frank, just being you. I like him… I'd never make fun of him."

The air shifts between them at that but they don't really acknowledge it. They keep talking as they drink. Frank tells her what his family has been up to. She talks about little things that have happened over the past year. They don't talk about how he was gone; they don't talk about how it ended between them or why; they don't talk about her relationship with Wes. But it's lighter in tone and deeper in content. She feels closer to him than they've been in so long, and she's missed it. She's missed him.

Eventually, they're pleasantly numbed and more relaxed than they've been on this trip and around each other, and they agree they should get some sleep before they start it all again tomorrow.

It doesn't take either of them long to fall asleep but just as they seem to have every night since they've started sharing a bed, they gravitate towards each other in their unconscious states. Laurel wakes early in the morning, not on her side of the bed. She's not really on the bed. Frank's mostly between her and it. Her head is resting on his chest, her legs are intertwined with his, and his arm is wrapped tightly around her waist and keeping her close. She tries not to move, tries to stay still so that she doesn't wake him, his chest slowly rising and falling in time with his breaths. She closes her eyes and takes it in as long as she can.

But then she feels it, the way his fingers press into her before slowly moving back and forth, caressing her side gently. He's awake but maybe thinks she's still asleep. The realization hits her that he's savoring this the same way she is. And she doesn't want to pretend she's asleep anymore. She hugs him before she slowly lifts her head, staying connected to him in every other way, and meets his eyes.

All she can see is the man she fell in love with, the man she's never stopped loving. There's so much in his eyes, cloudy with love and dark with lust. He doesn't seem to want to say anything at first, afraid to break the moment, and Laurel subconsciously makes a decision, nothing on her mind but the man beneath her. She slides up his body just a little so that she can lean in, press her lips gently to his. Her eyes remain open, locked on his, and when they part she can see anxiety seeping into his, that maybe this is a bad idea, that he should stop them. And he may be right. This may be a bad idea but she's not going to stop. She feels so alive and loved in this moment, in his arms. It's been so long since she's felt this way, and she wants this; so, she's going to stop doubting that, for now.

"Laurel," he whispers then, giving a cursory warning against what they both know is about to happen.

"Don't," she murmurs with a small shake of her head before surging forward and kissing him harder, her eyes slipping closed as she commits to this decision with no real trepidation.

It doesn't take long for Frank to respond, sliding his free hand up her arm until it's tangling in her hair and pulling her to him as he deepens the kiss. She opens her mouth to him and moans softly as their tongues meet. The familiarity of this moment is overwhelming at first. The way Frank's lips fit against hers, the pleasant scratch of his beard, the spark and electricity coursing through her everywhere they touch, the intense passion that had been lying dormant inside her for over a year. But more than familiar, it's everything she's missed. That pull inside her is finally sated now that she's back in his arms.

The kiss becomes heated quickly, and Laurel straddles Frank's waist pulling away from him as she sits up, which doesn't sit well Frank. He reaches for her and tries to pull her back to him, a small grunt of protest falling from his lips. But she smirks down at him, hands pressing against his chest to push him back, using the purchase for leverage to slide down his body until her center comes into contact with his growing length. She moans.

Frank's hips jump up against her but he stays on his back, running his hands along her legs, letting his eyes taking her in. She smiles and grinds against him slowly, pressing against him in just the right way, and she can feel herself growing wet, knows that it won't be long before her panties and shorts are soaked through. Her eyes meet Frank's as his hands drift higher up her thighs, slipping slightly under the material of her shorts, and she tugs her shirt up over her head, throwing it off to the side.

He moves at that, no longer content to lay back and let her put on a show for him. Sitting up, he wraps an arm around her back, his hand supporting her, as he leans forward to take her breast into his mouth, his teeth grazing her nipple, devouring her as if he's been in the desert for weeks and needs her body to survive.

She moans out at the sensation that washes over her, the pleasure she feels so immensely, low in her core, slowly building to something more. She slides her hands around his shoulders, her fingers threading through his hair and holding him close to her, begging silently for more.

It's familiar, this position. They'd found themselves in it a lot toward the end, when emotions and feelings were solidifying, turning to love. It was always intimate then; it's just as intimate now, maybe more so because now she's sure of what she feels, of what he feels.

He pulls at her nipple then, forcing a moan out of her as he looks up with mirth in his eyes before he kisses across her chest to lavish the same attention on her other breast. His hand slides around her body to cover the one he just left, shielding it from the cool air and massaging it gently.

And she grinds against him, sliding her cunt along his length, feeling him along her folds even through the thin material she has on, pressing against her clit. She wants more—always wants more with him—and doesn't want to wait any longer than she already has.

She tugs on his hair, watches as he releases her breast and, as if he's reading her mind, pulls her head down to him, kissing her roughly and hugging her to him. Without warning, he changes their positions, laying her on the bed and hovering over her, but his lips never leave hers.

They haven't said anything, she realizes. All she can hear are their moans, skin against skin, the rustling of the sheets, the creaking of the bed.

But even so, it feels like they are saying everything, that they've both acknowledged the intimacy of this moment, the surge of emotions.

Through their rough and heated kisses, they both somehow work their way out of their shorts and Frank's shirt, in a dance they long ago perfected, until they are both completely naked.

When Frank starts to trail kisses down her body, his destination and intent obvious, Laurel finally speaks up.

"Wait, Frank," she says softly, and Frank immediately stops, looking up from her stomach with curious eyes. "Let's just… you don't have to. I don't need that. I'm ready."

She doesn't know why she suddenly feels as though having him between her legs will be too much. She doesn't want him to feel obligated, just having him inside her is enough. Maybe it's because she's forgotten how good it could feel to have someone down there, she's not sure, but she suddenly self-conscious about it.

Frank seems to be just as confused and rests his chin on his hands on top of her stomach. "I know I don't have to, I want to." His tone is soft as if his words are meant to caress her the way his hands are. "Did you forget how much I love tasting you?" he asks, voice low and silky smooth.

And no, she really hasn't forgotten, has always appreciated how much he seems to relish it, how it's not a chore or a burden or an obligation because she gave him a blowjob as it is for some men. But still, she can't understand why he wants to take a detour like this when it's been over a year, when he's hard as can be, when she's willing to forgo any more foreplay.

"Do you know how much I've missed you?" he asks when she doesn't respond, breaking into her thoughts. "How the thought of you got me through so many sleepless nights? I've missed everything about you. And this, this is something I can't go without any longer... I know you enjoy it," he says proudly. "So let me make you feel good, Laurel," he pleads softly, as though he needs it to go on. His eyes are looking up at her raptly and she knows she can't deny him, doesn't want to.

So, instead, she slowly spreads her legs, inviting him to continue. He smirks up at her before returning on his journey.

He kisses low against her belly, tantalizingly slow, letting his beard glide across her skin. She's already breathing harder, which is crazy because he hasn't even _done_ anything yet. He's enjoying this a little too much, she thinks with the way he seems to be reacquainting himself with her body, the way his fingers slide gently over her skin as if she's a work of art.

He skips over his destination, and this time, she can't hide her groan of frustration. "Frank…"

He looks up at her, amused, knowing exactly what he's doing. "What?" he asks innocently as he presses kisses to her inner thigh, moving closer and closer before stopping to look up at her again, a smirk crossing his face. "Am I keeping you from something?"

"Frank." This time she nearly growls but Frank just chuckles before putting her out of her misery and leaning in. He presses a slow, languid, opened-mouth kiss to her folds and his tongue slides along her slit, worshipping her, and his moan at the taste of her is enough to send another rush of wetness straight to her core. He always acts as though she's the best thing he's ever tasted, and it emboldens her.

She reaches down and threads her fingers through his hair, holding him to her as her hips push against him. He takes the hint and his mouth starts to move against her in earnest as he devours her. His lips close around her clit; his beard deliciously scratches against her smooth, bare lips; and he works her over as her moans grow louder. Two of his long, thick fingers slip inside her and, this time, he moans against her as she stretches around them, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't stop until she's calling out his name, crashing through the crescendo, and even as she's coming down.

He doesn't stop until she's roughly tugging him up her body, her mouth crashing against his the second she can reach them, tasting herself on his lips, on his tongue. They both moan desperately, and it's not long before she feels him lined up against her entrance, and he's pulling from her only slightly.

"Condom?" he murmurs.

And she can't respond fast enough, tone breathless. "No, no. We're good. Do it, Frank," she urges.

That's enough for him. He seizes her lips once more before he thrusts forward, sheathing himself inside her completely. She thinks she forgot how big he is, the pleasant stretching she always feels when he enters her. He seems to savor it too, a long, satisfied moan falling from his lips and into her mouth.

It's no longer slow after that, their base instincts taking over after having been reunited so wholly. It's fast; it's rough; it's everything she's missed, everything she's remembered.

They are both moaning and grunting with the building pleasure. They were never quiet when they were together. Her nails scratch at his back, claiming him. No doubt leaving marks. She knows he likes that. His teeth are pulling against the skin of her neck, leaving his own marks, claiming her too.

They claim each other, love each other, can't be without each other. And they come together, her name on his lips, his fingers roughly against her clit. She calls out his name too as he spills inside her, fucking her through it until he's collapsing on top of her, the familiar weight of him pressed against her as they catch their breath.

Her body is humming, contented. That always present pull inside her is, for once, satisfied with having him so close.

And when he kisses her, slowly, lovingly, so familiar, it's as though they are the only two people in the world, and she can't think of anywhere else she'd rather be.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

When Laurel wakes again that morning to the sound of the shower running, she can't help the panic that washes over her. She wishes she could blame the alcohol but she knows that had nothing to do with it. She was completely sober by the time she awoke, one hundred percent in charge of her decisions and her body's response. That makes this all worse, she thinks. She knew. She knew exactly what she was doing with Frank, what she was doing to Wes, that it wasn't okay. And, she didn't care. She did it anyway, made love with Frank and enjoyed every moment.

But it was too much last night. Too deep, too many emotions, too intimate, and she's too scared. She's scared of falling so completely again when she still doesn't _know_ Frank, when she has someone at home that she does know.

She jumps out of bed when she hears the shower shut off, quickly slides on her PJs, and grabs some clothes for the day out of her bag. As she expected, Frank comes sauntering out shortly, relaxed smile on his face, hair dripping wet, towel wrapped low around his waist.

His smile widens the second he sees her, and he must ignore or not see her wide-eyed panic because he walks straight over to her and wraps his arm around her waist.

"Mornin'," he murmurs, voice low and oh-so-soft as he pulls her against him and leans down to kiss her.

But she twists out of his arms before he can, clutching her clothes to her. "I should shower," she blurts out, not looking at him as she walks to the bathroom quickly.

"Laurel…"

She doesn't stop, doesn't look back at him because she knows what she'll see. She knows he's already hurt by her response. She can hear it in that one word alone.

He's all business by the time she gets out, not making eye contact, only talking about the case. He must have sensed that she can't do the personal right now, or maybe, he just doesn't want to give her a chance to reject him again. Either way, it works for her.

She keeps it business as well, all but ignores him throughout the morning as they get breakfast. She only talks to him about Javier and the plan.

Overwhelming guilt is all she feels, all she can really think about. She feels weak having let the proximity to her ex-boyfriend make her cheat on her best friend, that somewhere along the way she let Frank back in—forgave him—without demanding answers. So, she ignores him. She ignores how obviously crushed he is; ignores the sorrow in his eyes and the strain in his voice; ignores the desire to reach out and wrap her arms around him and tell him that she's sorry, that she does love him.

But she deserves better than what she's gotten from him this past year, and so she won't let him make her weak anymore.

They head back to Almora Enterprises by midday. It's a quiet car ride, the tension between them obvious and thick. She doesn't say anything because she just knows if she does, Frank is going to bring up last night. She can tell that he's stewing, growing angry the more he thinks about it. She can see it in the way his hands are gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white.

She doesn't blame him for being upset. She would be, too, if the situation was reversed. And she doesn't even know why she can't just come out and tell him what happened, how she freaked out and why. If she would just _talk_ to him, maybe she could figure it all out. But that was always the issue; they were never good at talking about their problems. That's not just on him.

"There he is," Frank says, cold voice cutting through as he pulls up to their destination and shuts off the car. She follows his eyes and almost immediately sees the man from the mugshots, Javier, sitting outside the building with Ernesto.

"You think they'll pull something?" he asks cautiously, but she just shakes her head. She can't tell him why she knows they won't.

"I think we're good," she tells him instead, getting out of the car. "Remember the plan," she reminds.

Frank just nods, his eyes not meeting hers. "You do the talking. I'm here for backup," he recites, though he doesn't sound annoyed that she's relegated him to that position. They both know she'd probably be better in this situation. And they both know, even despite their current state, that Frank would do anything to protect her. She doesn't think they need it but she trusts him to make sure they'll both get through this with no trouble.

Laurel glances around the property as they walk up to the men. She sees the guards keeping them in their periphery but they largely seem unconcerned by her and Frank's presence. She wonders if Ernesto has told them anything. It appears that Javier may have been tipped off, judging by the way they are waiting outside. Although, Laurel reasons, it is lunchtime. Maybe Ernesto is just trying to keep him close by.

The moment Javier spots them, she thinks the latter observation may be true. Their presence is unexpected, and Javier eyes them wearily before turning to Ernesto and saying something heatedly. She can't hear but he looks ready to run, and Laurel is really hoping that she's not going to need to bring her father into this any more than she already has. But she will if it comes down to it, if it means Frank comes out of this with a win.

"Buenos días," Laurel greets, keeping her tone friendly as she reaches them. She gives Javier a smile. "¿Javier?"

"Sí," he answers shortly, cautiously, and she can see him start to stand but thinks better of it as Frank steps up, arms crossed, and doing his best to look menacing.

"Son amigos," Ernesto calms, gesturing to the two of them. "Necesitan tu ayuda."

"You're a hard man to track down," she notes lightly.

Javier doesn't say anything, glancing instead at Ernesto. When he nods encouragingly, Javier relaxes back into his seat just slightly. "I was out of town," he offers.

Laurel nods and turns to Ernesto. "Thank you for your assistance. But we really should have this conversion alone."

Ernesto nods understandingly before excusing himself and stepping back inside. Laurel takes his vacated seat while Frank remains standing, on guard.

"You know Michael Mendes, correct?" she asks, getting right into it as soon as she is sure Ernesto is gone.

"Sí. Él y yo—" he starts before glancing up at Frank with an apology for not using English. "I do," he translates. "He and I work together sometimes."

"And you were with him in Philadelphia two months ago?"

He nods. "I was."

"So, you know why we're here?"

Javier glances around nervously, and she watches at Frank perks up at that, following his eyes, staying alert.

"Are you with the police?" he asks, and Laurel's surprised that apparently he really wasn't given information about them by Ernesto.

"No," Laurel assures. "We work for Michael's lawyer. He's being accused of murder but told us that you may be able to provide an alibi for the night it happened. We've tried to find something else to help him, but it's not looking good. We really need your help."

He doesn't answer right away, is quiet for a long moment. He looks nervous. She glances at Frank. They both have clearly come to the same conclusion that whatever they were doing in Philly was less than legal.

"Look, we're not interested in anything else," Frank speaks up. "We don't care why you were there to begin with. The police don't have anything else on him at this point. As far as anyone needs to know it was a weekend away. But we need to know where you were that Saturday night."

Javier nods before sighing. "We were at a bar, ended up at back at the hotel around 3 am."

"And Michael was with you the whole night, between midnight and 6 am?" Laurel asks.

Javier nods.

"You sure he didn't go back out once you got back to the hotel?" Frank asks, keeping in mind the details they need.

"Yes, we… shared a room," he whispers, glancing over at Laurel.

She gives him a soft smile in understanding. "Good. That's good for Michael. It means he couldn't have done this. We just need you to come back with us so we can help him."

"No," he says sharply. "I can't testify. I can't tell—"

"If you don't then Michael's going to jail, probably for the rest of his life," Frank threatens harshly.

Laurel sighs, reaching out to place a hand on Frank's arm to stop him, before speaking quietly to Javier to try and smooth it all over. "You may not even need to testify, but we need you to talk to the police. It's the only way to help him."

"No sé." He shakes his head and looks to Laurel as he speaks in Spanish. "If my boss find out how I'm mixing business and pleasure, and with him, it won't be good for me."

"I get that," she responds in kind, "but Michael is someone you care about, yes?"

He simply nods.

"Then you should want to do this for him," she prompts, glancing quickly at Frank as she continues in Spanish. "I know what it's like to care about someone, to put yourself on the line to help them. It's what you do."

"Can I think about it?" he asks and Laurel can only breathe a sigh. She really does not want to involve her father but it doesn't seem like they are going to get Javier there on their own.

"Fine," she agrees in English, looking to Frank. "He needs to think about it," she tells him.

Frank closes his eyes at yet another delay and takes a deep breath. It is clear he's annoyed but nods in agreement. "Fine. We meet tomorrow for lunch," he states firmly, looking down at Javier. "But we can't wait any longer. We'll need a decision then."

Javier tentatively nods and Laurel's brow creases before she speaks in Spanish. "Do not even think about running," she says in a low tone. "Trust me. You do not want to mess with us."

Javier's eyes widen but when he speaks, his tone is more confident. "I will meet you at Diner 65 at noon. I promise. I will be there," he assures.

"Good," Laurel says, glancing at Frank. "We will see you there to talk details," she says hopefully, letting him know that there is only one right answer.

Javier stands then, slowly. "I will be there," he promises. "But I must get back to work now."

Laurel nods, and Frank steps to the side to let the man by. They watch as he walks into the building, and then Frank glances at Laurel. "You really think he's going to show?" he asks.

"I don't know," she says honestly with a shrug. "I guess we'll find out tomorrow. Let's go."

xxx

When they arrive back at the hotel, Laurel notices the way Frank stops and stares at the bed a moment before clearing his throat. It's the elephant in the room, a reminder of the night before when somehow everything seemed simple. Laurel wants to say something but she doesn't know what she _can_ say. She's sure that no matter what, it will hurt him, and she doesn't want to hurt him more than she already has today. Luckily, the silence doesn't drag on. Frank reaches into his jacket pocket, coming away with his phone.

"I'm going to update Annalise," he tells her before beginning to dial, clearly wanting to avoid the present. Laurel just nods, knowing that she needs to make a call of her own, and grabs her own phone before stepping out into the hall as she searches through her contacts until she reaches the bottom.

"Hello?" Wes's voice comes over the line.

Laurel tries to smile, force her tone to be light. "So, you've decided to talk to me again?"

The words are passive-aggressive. She can admit that. They're not as soft as she intended, and that's probably because she is still so angry—with him, with the situation, with everything.

Wes doesn't let it slide. "Well, I don't know. You ready to tell me the truth?"

Even if she deserves to be called on everything, it's petty, and she has to stop herself from rolling her eyes and coming back with something equally so. She takes a breath instead and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter.

"Wes, what can I say that will fix this? I don't want to lose you…"

"I think that all depends on your feelings for Frank," he says honestly, not letting this be easy.

She sighs, knowing that there's no way around it but she can already feel the weight settling on her chest "You were right, okay?" she starts, choosing to be just as honest with him. "I still have feelings for him. I still… I still love him, and it's not fair to you for me to pretend that I don't anymore. I'm sorry."

"So, what have these past few months been? The flirting before we started dating? Were you just using me?" He's angry but more than that, he's hurt, and she can hear it. She hates that she's done this to him. He doesn't deserve it.

"No," she protests, quietly, as tears start to gather. "Wes, you are my best friend."

"But that's all I've ever been to you, isn't it?" He asks the question but it's clear he already knows the answer. And she can't really deny that, not completely. But she had hoped that maybe it could eventually be more. "I'm the one who's been here for you, Laurel. When he was nowhere to be found, ignoring you, it was me you could depend on."

"This isn't about Frank," she tries to tell him, and in many ways, that's true. She always knew that this wasn't quite right, even before Frank came back. She was forcing something more. She knew their feelings for each other were fundamentally different. Wes felt far more for her than she did for him.

"Isn't it?" he pops back, getting angrier. "We were doing great until he came back."

Laurel takes a beat, trying to gather her thoughts as she wipes her eyes. This may be the right thing to do but that doesn't mean she's not pained by it.

"It's not about him, exactly," she starts, acquiescing in part. "It's more about how we changed the second he came back and what that said about us… You don't trust me, Wes. The entire time I've been on this trip, you've been treating me like I'm not able to make my own decisions. And it just doesn't feel like it's been working these past few weeks…" She takes a deep breath. It's hard to admit, but she also knows that she needs to. He deserves that. "And you knew going into this a couple months ago that I wasn't exactly on the same page as you. I hoped I'd get there but I don't see that happening."

"No, I didn't know that," he argues. "I thought you were going to give this one hundred percent like I did. But maybe all you were was lonely."

She bites her lip and breathes through her tears. She's not going to try and argue with him. He deserves to have his anger. She won't tell him he's wrong, especially when she's no longer sure he is.

"I'm sorry," she whispers instead. "I'm sorry if you feel like I've been leading you on. That was never my intention. I did want this to be something more but it doesn't feel like it's working. It doesn't feel like you will ever really trust me."

"Then it's over," he reasons coldly, not arguing her point that he doesn't trust her. "I won't keep waiting for you to see what's right in front of you."

Laurel's silent at that because she does see what's right in front of her, what she wants, and who she is meant to be with. It's not Wes, but that doesn't mean that this isn't hurting her.

"I'm sorry," she repeats. "I never wanted to hurt you. You're my best friend, and maybe we shouldn't have messed with that. I don't want to lose you."

"Yeah, well, that ship has sailed."

She goes silent for a moment because he can't be saying what she thinks he is. He wouldn't throw away everything they have, right? "What?" she asks breathlessly.

"I don't know that I want to be friends anymore," he tells her harshly. "I don't see us going back to that. Not after this."

"Why not?" she asks as the tears start streaming down her face, crying harder now because she can't lose him completely. He means too much to her. He understands her. She needs him. "If you care about me the way you say, then why can't we be friends? I know it won't be easy but I want to work our way back to that. Please, Wes, don't do this."

He doesn't respond right away but when he does his tone is angry, and it breaks her heart because this is not what she wants, how she wants them to be. She's messed everything up. "I think you made the choice for us when you left with Frank, when you lied to me about sharing a room with him, when you tried to deny your feelings for him. You didn't trust me either, Laurel. You didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth."

"Wes, stop please. Let's just try and talk about this. I am sorry. I'm so sorry. But you're supposed to be my friend, and I know you're upset but can we try and figure this out?"

"Maybe we were never really friends," he responds petulantly. "He has always come first for you. Maybe he should be your best friend because I think I'm done. I can't even think of you without thinking about him."

He hangs up on her then, without letting her respond, and all she can feel is shock and pain. She leans against the wall, thankful for being the only person in the hall, so she can cry in peace. She gets that Wes is upset, but the fact that he seems to want to shut her out of his life for good when she has put so much into their friendship—done so much more than the others for him—hurts her. She's upset and she's angry. And not just with Wes or herself or the situation. She's upset and angry with Frank, too.

Maybe Wes is right in a way. Maybe she was using him. She hadn't been over Frank at all, not even after all this time, and she could never tell Wes that he had nothing to worry about. When she started dating Wes, she had hoped she could force herself to move on. She didn't think Frank would ever be coming back, and she couldn't just stand still. Wes was there. Wes loved her. And she thought, maybe, she could love him like that too. Eventually.

But then Frank came back, and she knew then that she was only ever lying to herself. Wes hadn't even made a dent in her feelings for Frank but instead of admitting that she tried to double down with Wes, do what her head said was right, and ignore her heart.

She takes a few minutes more to compose herself, wiping her tears and taking several calming breaths before she heads back. It's been longer than she expected, and she's slightly surprised Frank hasn't come out looking for her yet. After she settles herself the best she can, she returns to the room.

Frank is off the phone and judging from his expression and the way he's eyeing her intently, he may have heard at least some of the conversation she just had. At the very least, she knows that it's obvious she's been crying.

"Laurel," he starts softly, his tone so full of care but hesitant as if he's going to spook her and send her running. She closes her eyes, tries to stem any more tears; she can't do this right now. "Is everything okay?"

"Don't," she snaps at that with a shake of her head as she avoids eye contact and walks over to her computer on the small table. She's looking for a viable distraction. There's nothing more to do. They are twiddling their thumbs until tomorrow, which means there is nothing to help her avoid the personal. And it seems like Frank isn't willing to let it alone.

"Don't want?" he pushes cautiously, though he clearly knows what she's talking about.

She abandons her plan to get on her computer and looks back at him. "This is all your fault," she argues, maybe unfairly but she doesn't want to be hurt anymore. She's afraid of letting Frank in again, she's afraid she's lost her best friend, and she doesn't want to deal with any of it. She can feel the walls going up, and she can feel herself spoiling for a fight, but she can't stop it. Maybe it's even for the best.

"If you hadn't come back, if you had just stayed gone, maybe I could have had a chance with Wes, a chance to move on," she spits out at him, "but you couldn't just stay away, and now you've screwed everything up. As usual," she adds meanly.

She can see the hurt in his eyes. "Laurel, please," he begs softly, that pain extending to his voice. If she listens closely, there's a hum of anger threatening to unmask itself. "It took both of us last night, and we should talk about that. It meant something."

"No, I don't want to talk about it," she tells him. "It shouldn't have happened. I had a boyfriend."

Frank takes a fraction of a step closer to her, imploring her to listen. "Laurel, I know last night meant something to you, too. I know _we_ mean something."

"It doesn't matter if it meant anything," she throws back at him with a jut of her chin, holding her head high in defiance, and trying to pretend that she doesn't know perfectly well just how much last night meant to both of them.

"What are you talking about? Of course it does," Frank implores.

She looks at him for several moments, feeling her anger rise, all the hurt and betrayal and abandonment she's felt over the past year coming to the surface.

"You left me, Frank, without a word and ignored me for a year!" she yells then, frustrated. "I knew nothing! Nothing about where you were or what happened. I spent so much time…" She trails off, taking a deep breath as tears threaten to fall. She wipes her cheeks, steels herself further, and when she speaks again, her voice is softer but her anger penetrates the room. "I thought you were dead. I spent every day worried about you, and you just let me think it, just let me be consumed with worry and fear. You ignored any contact I tried to make. So, clearly, I meant nothing to you then. Don't try to act like I mean anything to you now."

"Laurel," he breathes out, interrupting her rant as he takes a step toward her. She doesn't give in and instead takes a step back away from him and continues.

"I know nothing about you," she snarls, "except that more often than not, you lie to me and you hurt me and I can't do this. I had the chance to finally move on and if you had never come back, none of this would have happened. My best friend wouldn't hate me."

Frank shakes his head, and she can see that he's getting angry, too, but she doesn't let that change anything.

"That's not on me, Laurel," he argues steadily, looking at her as if he can see right through her, can still read her as easily as he was always able to. "You and I both know that your feelings for the puppy are not romantic. They never were. He can't give you what you need. He doesn't understand you, everything that happened to you, not really… You never would've lasted even if I hadn't come back," he observes, "because you don't love him like that. You never would've."

She wants to stop him, tell him he's wrong, but he's not and they both know it. He knows her too well. He knows her heart.

"And if you want to be angry at someone for him hating you," he continues, taking a step closer, "look in a damn mirror. You led him on, not me. And now, you're lying to yourself about who you really want."

"Get out."

He blinks at that, taken aback by the words. "You can't just tell me to get lost when you don't want to talk about something," he tells her in a low voice as a spark of defiance shines in his eyes.

And she can't help the bitter laugh that bubbles up. "So, it's only okay when you do it?" she asks, crossing her arms in front of her. "Let's stop pretending this is all on me because I'm done. Get the hell out, Frank!"

"My pleasure," he says sarcastically, rolling his eyes, as he turns away from her and grabs the keys to the car. She lets out a breath, relieved that he's not fighting her on this right now, will give her the space she so desperately needs. He pauses though and takes a deep breath, seemingly steeling himself. He looks up, just stares at her a moment before speaking.

"It was both of us last night, Laurel," he says, tone softer, calmer. She doesn't understand why he's always so willing to take what she throws at him. She closes her eyes and turns her back to him but that doesn't deter his words; he's clearly decided that she's going to hear this whether she wants to or not. "You want to be upset over Wes. Fine. I get it. But there's a guy who loves you, more than anything, standing right in front of you. And you could be happy, Laurel, if you let yourself."

She spins around then, anger flashing in her eyes as all of her pain rises to the surface. "You don't love me."

"I do," he argues passionately, taking a step closer to her. "You know I do."

"If you did, you never would have left!" she yells. As soon as the words leave her, all of the anger flows with them; she deflates as she finally vocalizes her feelings—how utterly worthless she felt as she walked around his apartment a year ago and realized he had left; how silly she felt calling him over and over again, each time expecting that would be the time he answered; and how delusional she felt when she realized everything she thought they were and could be was a lie. Because, if he really loved her, he would never have done that to her. Right?

Frank stares are her a moment more, and she watches him exhale, pained. When he speaks, his voice is soft and sincere. "I made a mistake, Laurel. If I could go back, I would. But I can't. I can't change anything that has already happened but I want to move forward with you. I want to figure it out and do it right this time."

She looks down at her feet and shakes her head, unwilling to let him in right now. "I don't care," she speaks softly, looking back up at him. "You had a chance to prove I meant something to you, that I was important enough for you to think about when making decisions. You had a chance and I'm done. Everything bad that happens is because of you. You should have just stayed gone. Please, just leave."

After a moment where she's unsure of how he is going to react, he slowly steps away and walks to the door. She looks down to the floor, not able to watch him go; so she's surprised when he speaks again but she doesn't look at him.

"You can push me away all you want but I'm not going anywhere, Laurel. Not anymore… Annalise isn't the only reason I came back." His words are heavy, full of so much meaning.

But she can't look at him; instead, she turns her back to him and takes a deep breath, struggling to hold in the tears gathering in her eyes. But she does. She waits until the door finally closes behind him. She waits until she's sure he's down the hall. She waits until she's sure she's alone before allowing herself to sob.


	7. Chapter 7

_**AN:** It has been an unacceptably long time, I know, and I'm so sorry for that. When 4b was on, I didn't have a lot of inspiration to write, and then after the season ended on such a high note, I had SO MUCH inspiration but no time. Basically, I'm super excited for Flaurel rising, and I have so much I want to write. So, I promise I will keep writing. I will finish my current fics, and I have more on the backburner. Hopefully, I will be more consistent from here on out. _

_I hope you guys are still interested in reading. Let me know if you're still liking this one!_

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

Frank does as she asks.

He leaves her be in the hotel room, gives her the space that she so desperately wants at the moment. After taking several minutes to pull herself together, she showers and dresses in her pajamas before crawling into bed. She can't help the tears that continue to fall no matter how hard she tries to stop them. She's crying for her lost friendship with Wes; she's crying for the hurt she still feels from Frank leaving her, even if it was a year ago; and she's crying for how she feels now. She's mad at herself for treating Frank and Wes the way she has. She should never have cheated on Wes; no matter what, he didn't deserve that, and she gets why he's so angry with her. But Frank also didn't deserve for her to make love to him and then push him away with no real explanation.

Frank is who she wants. She knows that with everything inside her but she's scared. She's so scared of letting him back in, letting down her walls again only for it to end badly. She has never been good about trusting people, loving them, and letting them love her. Blame it on her father and everything that happened there.

It messed her up. She's smart enough to admit that. But it's not like Frank has it all together either. He has his own past and issues she still doesn't even know. He hasn't completely let her in but there's something deep inside telling her that if they both let down those walls, they'd be so good for each other. She has a feeling that if they really tried, it would never end. She'd never be hurt by him again.

That's all easier said than done though. A couple hours pass and he hasn't returned. That just makes the tears fall again. She was horrible to him. He didn't deserve for her to take her guilt out on him. It wasn't his fault. He didn't do anything wrong this time.

And the night before had been amazing. She felt whole again, and if she's completely honest, she knew this was going to happen. She should have ended it with Wes, been honest with him from the start. Frank's right: this is all on her.

Somehow, despite the crying and thoughts swimming around in her head, she falls asleep. It's a fitful sleep and when she wakes around 4 am, she looks around the room to discover she's still alone.

She starts to worry then and reaches for her phone. There are no messages, so she calls him but it goes straight to voicemail.

She wonders if he went to a bar, if he's with some other woman right now. Or worse, if he's hurt somewhere.

The rising panic causes her to jump out of bed, ready to take some sort of action. But one glance outside brings immediate relief because she sees their car and Frank sleeping in the passenger's seat. She takes a deep breath to relax her nerves before slipping on her shoes, grabbing the room key, and heading outside.

She tries to stem the tears but they silently fall. The guilt over how she treated him—that he's been stuck sleeping outside in the car because she couldn't be an adult and just talk to him instead of pushing him away—still weighing on her, as it should. Sometimes, she wonders how he could still want her—love her—the way he so clearly does after everything that happened a year ago, after everything that's happened since he's been back. She doesn't deserve his unwavering faith in her.

She shuffles out through the lobby, ignoring the man leering at her from behind the reception desk, and makes her way to the car. She wipes at her tears but it does nothing to stem their fall.

Knocking lightly on the window startles him awake but he relaxes as soon as he sees her, a small smile even playing on his lips. She steps back to let him open the door but doesn't say anything at first. She's not even sure what she could say to make this better. He takes her in for a moment—red cheeks, puffy eyes, fresh tear tracks—and he sighs softly, almost as if seeing her hurting kills him.

"Laurel…" he breathes out and it's not right that he's using a comforting tone, trying to make her feel better when he's sleeping in a car because of her.

She steps closer and squats down so that they are almost eye-level.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers as new tears bubble over and down her cheeks.

He reaches out to wipe them away before resting his hands on her cheeks, gently cradling her face, which only serves to make her cry harder.

"Shhh, it's okay," he whispers.

"It's not. I am so sorry, Frank," she repeats, "for what I said and for kicking you out, making you sleep out here. I'm sorry. I was—"

"Hey, Laurel, it's okay," he tells her, voice soft but firm. She can't help but listen. "We don't have to talk about it right now. I get it."

"How? How can you possibly understand, and not care about everything I said, everything I did tonight."

He runs the pad of his thumb along her lower lip as she worries it between her teeth. Her breath is unsteady but he seems so sure of everything. It scares her, in a way. Because she's never trusted in anything the way he seems to trust in her.

"I do care," he finally says, and she can see the flash of something in his eyes—the pain that she's caused him. "But you're hurting, and I love you enough that a little anger directed my way isn't going to change that."

"Come back inside?" she asks softly, too tired and upset to push him away further tonight. "Let's just get some sleep right now."

He nods and gives her a small smile as he starts to sit up. She stands and takes a step back as he gets out before they head back inside. She doesn't miss the way Frank's hand goes to the small of her back as they pass by the reception desk. She doesn't have to look at him to know he's glaring in the direction of the man who was leering at her earlier.

She doesn't feel like she deserves his love or protection after what she did, not tonight at least. She deserves him being mad at her. He never is though. Even a year ago when she told Annalise what he had done; he never got upset at her. Sometimes, it's like he knows her better than she knows herself; has more faith in her.

Once they climb into bed, Laurel lays still for a moment before scooting over to him and wrapping her arm around his waist, needing to be close to him. Maybe she can give him some comfort the way he did her at the car. But she just feels him stiffen slightly.

"I'm sorry, Frank," she repeats yet again.

"Stop," he tells her, and she can hear the smirk. He softens against her and wraps his arm around her protectively. "Let's just get some sleep."

xxx

When she wakes a few hours later, as the sun streams in through the curtains, Laurel's filled with the warmth of Frank's body still pressed tightly against hers. It's only a few hours later, but she knows she's not going to be able to fall back asleep. Quietly, she detangles herself from Frank's embrace, careful not to wake him. After sleeping in the car, he deserves some more rest.

She gets dressed, grabs the keys, and goes off in search of coffee for both of them. She feels a little better in the light of day. She still feels guilty for what she's done to both Frank and Wes—she's sure that's not going to go away any time soon—but all she can do now is move forward.

Before she starts driving, she pulls out her phone and opens the text messages. She knows it won't help but she needs to at least apologize and, right now, this is the only way.

 _I know you don't want to hear from me, but I am sorry, Wes. I didn't want this to happen. I hope we can talk when I get back and things have calmed down._

She leaves it at that and heads off to a local coffee shop she remembers seeing a couple of days ago.

She has a lot to figure out, but she knows now that she wants to see if there's a way forward for her and Frank. It's the one truth to come out of this trip: they aren't over; maybe they never were. They have a lot to work through, though, if they are ever going to make it together. She doesn't trust him like she used to, and she doesn't know if he'll be willing to finally open up to her and let her know the real Frank Delfino. But she hopes he will.

Frank is not the only thing she has to worry about at the moment. They still haven't gotten their witness on their side; hopefully, today's meeting will be a fruitful endeavor. If it's not, she's going to have to go with her last resort. And she really doesn't want to; she doesn't want to give her father any more power over her, not when she's worked so hard to get out from under him.

After picking up coffee and donuts, she returns to the room and smiles softly when she finds Frank still asleep. She can tell he's gone, dead to the world; she's pretty sure that means he didn't really get any rest when he was in the car.

She frowns at that thought but walks over to him, standing on his side of the bed. She hates to wake him but they need to get ready and go over some things.

Placing her hand softly on his forearm, she squeezes gently and gives him a slight shake.

"Frank," she called quietly, "It's getting late."

Frank groans and moves slowly; she can't help but laugh lightly at the disturbed but adorable look that crosses his face. She laughs even more as she thinks of him as adorable. That would not be an adjective most people would use to describe Frank. But like this, when it's just the two of them, he's different.

"What time is it?" he murmurs, eyes still closed, willing away the inevitable.

"Almost 9," she tells him. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I got some coffee."

"It's okay," he says softly, voice thick and rough with sleep. "We have a lot to talk about before lunch."

"We do," she agrees softly, moving back away from the bed as Frank starts to get up. "I got you the usual," she tells him as she walks over to the breakfast sitting on the table. "Found a local place."

When she looks over at him coming to join her, he has a small smirk on his face, the one that she's come to love so much as infuriating as it can be sometimes.

He sits with her, gratefully accepting the coffee before reaching into the bag and pulling out a bear claw, his favorite. He smiles at how well she knows him, and she can't help but smile back. Because, despite everything, this feels familiar and right.

They can't _not_ talk about it though, and she sees the question in his eyes before he asks it, expects it.

"What happened, Laurel?" he asks softly before adding, unnecessarily, "with Wes."

His tone isn't what she expects though. There's no anger or bitterness, no jealousy or betrayal. He's curious, wants to know, is interested in hearing what happened, how she's feeling. She knows that he dislikes Wes—the two of them had never gotten along—but he's putting that aside for her, because he loves her.

And he already knows what happened; at least, he knows about the outcome from the night before, but he wants to know it all, whatever she's willing to share with him. He wants to be there for her, in whichever way she'll let him, and that settles any unease about the topic, helps her let down her guard.

She's quiet a moment as she gathers her thoughts, but he doesn't push or rush her. He just waits, unassumingly, for her to be ready.

"We started dating maybe a little more than a month ago," she starts, looking down at her hands. "It was only a couple of weeks before you came back. But he'd been pursuing it a lot longer, and I just wasn't ready, or maybe, I knew. You know? I knew his feelings for me were different in nature than my feelings for him."

She looks up at him then, making eye contact as she continues, "I wasn't over you. But it had almost been a year, and I was tired of this hold you had on me. I thought—I thought if I forced myself forward then maybe I could get over you and move on, finally… You were right though. It's my fault for leading him on—"

"Laurel," he interrupts guiltily but she shakes her head and holds up a hand to stop him.

"But I was honest with him when we started dating. He knew that my feelings were different, that we weren't in the same place yet. And then you came back, and he's been so… possessive, jealous. So, I finally told him that I still had feelings for you and that I didn't know what it meant for me and him. And now, he doesn't even want to be my friend."

There are a few tears trickling down her cheeks that she wipes away as she finished. She can't help but feel sadness at hurting someone important to her.

"I'm sorry, Laurel. I know he's your best friend. I'm sorry if I played a part in this. I'm sure when he's calmed down, the two of you can talk," he offers. And she knows he's trying to be helpful but it's not really working.

After a moment, she wipes at her eyes but doesn't break eye contact.

"Why did you leave me?" she asks, voice wavering as she switches from her pain with Wes to the other pain she's been carrying around for the past year. "Why didn't you tell me? Or call me back? I called you so many times… Why wasn't I important enough to you?"

Her voice is quiet, small, and she can tell from the way his eyes widen that he never expected her questions. She also sees guilt flooding them.

"You said you didn't love me" he breathes out, without anger or malice just stating his facts. He stands and paces away from her, obviously bothered by the reminder. He turns toward her. "You didn't want me lovin' you…" He shrugs helplessly. "I—I didn't think you'd care."

Laurel stands at that and moves towards him. "Of course I loved you," she says breathlessly, even more pained that he hadn't known.

She pauses a step before him and continues looking him in the eye. "I didn't think I should, and I was trying to convince myself that I didn't," she admits softly though frustrated, a frown crossing her face at the reminder of everything that happened. "You killed a girl, and then you took a fucking phone call instead of explaining it to me."

Frank looks away—ashamed and guilty—but she continues, needing to get it all out.

"And you didn't give me a chance to process it, Frank. You insisted on talking to me but wouldn't tell me anything about why you did it. You let me believe Annalise ordered it!" she reminds him. "I was angry and confused and didn't know what to think about any of it. You didn't give me any time to make sense of it."

"Laurel," he starts, looking back at her, but she's not done.

"I needed time," she repeats. "And just as I started figuring it out, you left."

She takes a breath as she remembers how it all ended, the fear that washed over her when she discovered he had gone. "I went to your apartment, and you weren't there. It was all off, and weird, and after everything that happened that day… I thought you might have done something, that I was going to walk into the bedroom or bathroom and find you there—"

Frank cuts her off by pulling her into his arms with a comforting "shh," and it's only then that she realizes tears are streaming down her face and quickly soaking his shirt. That fear that he might be dead the entire time he was gone had never left her, and she didn't realize just how much it's still been affecting her.

"I'm so sorry, Laurel. I'm sorry," Frank whispers over and over again, his own anguish clear in his tone, as he holds her close.

xxx

"So, how long we give him?" Frank asks after 30 minutes of sitting in the diner, though his tone expresses what they both know; Javier's not coming.

She glances over at him, sitting next to her in the booth, with a defeated smile. "We could at least get some lunch since we're here."

"Yeah," he agrees, about to move to the booth across from her, and she reaches out to gently grab his forearm. When he looks back at her, she shakes her head and silently asks him to stay where he is.

He does.

They get some lunch, make light conversation, and it's easy. No awkwardness. No tension. They don't mention anything about their earlier conversation, knowing it's not the time but that's okay. They'll talk later, and for once, she's not dreading it.

While eating, she tries to figure out the next step. She has to go back to her father. She doesn't want to but there's no way around it. Frank needs this win. He can't go back empty-handed, and they're running out of time.

"Think it's worth goin' back to his work?" Frank asks after they finish paying.

"It can't hurt." She shrugs, sliding out of the booth. "We don't really have another option."

As Frank drives them toward Javier's work, Laurel discreetly texts her father. She leaves Frank out of her plans, knowing that he would never let her go to the man who has caused so much pain her entire life.

 _I need your help with the man I had you locate. Can you convince him to come back with us to Philly to testify?_

She hates what she's asking him to do, knowing she'll be putting a target on Javier, that he may not be so forthcoming now.

When Frank parks at Almora Enterprises, Laurel speaks up.

"I got this," she tells him as she opens the door. "There's no point in both of us going."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," she nods. "I'll be right back."

She gets out and heads straight for the main building, hoping Ernesto is around, and he is, though clearly surprised to see her.

"Javier's making a mistake," she tells him in Spanish, cutting to the chase. "I'm nicer and much more willing to do what I can to help Javier than Jorge will be."

Ernesto's eyes widen. "He's out today, doing some work for me. He told me you were meeting tomorrow."

"He lied," she says, reaching for a pen and paper on his desk. She jots down her number and hands it back. "Jorge will be in touch with him later. Have him call me when he's ready to follow through. He doesn't have long to make the right choice."

Ernesto nods and she turns to head out, not wanting to stay there any longer than she has to. She glances down at her phone, a text from Jorge displayed.

 _What do I get out of this, hija?_

Laurel rolls her eyes, seething just under the surface.

 _What do you want?_

xxx

Once they get back to the hotel, Laurel makes an excuse about needing to do some work for class, which isn't really a lie. Spring break is over and she has to get caught up on the classwork she's missing. She sets up at the table while Frank calls Bonnie to see if there's anything he could help with.

And that's how they are the rest of the afternoon, quietly but pleasantly working on their own things together. It's nice and reminds Laurel of Saturday mornings back when she and Frank were dating. He always had work he could do from home, and she'd set up in his living room, leaning on him or having him absentmindedly playing with her hair as they'd read or do whatever they were doing. It was so good with him before she found out the truth. That was part of the reason it was so hard for her to accept at first; she couldn't reconcile the man she loved with the man who murdered an innocent girl.

"I'm going to go get some coffee," she says a few hours later, letting her plan come to fruition. "You want anything?"

Frank looks up at her and stretches. "Yeah, that would be good. I can go, though," he offers, "so you can keep working."

She laughs lightly. "No, I need a break from property law, but thank you."

They share a smile, and she grabs her things. "Be back soon."

Once in the car, she pulls out her phone and searches for the nearest place with a public fax. She finds a library that isn't too far away and makes the drive there. She contacts her father to send her the documents, does what he wants to get his help. She feels like she's selling her soul to this man but she needs to do it for Frank, to protect him.

It doesn't take her too long to find a nearby coffee place after that and return to the small, run-down hotel. She'll be happy when they can finally get out of here and head home to Philly.

Back in the room, Frank is typing away, but he stops and glances up at her with a smile.

"Luck?" he asks, eyeing the coffee in her hands.

She hands one up out to him and smiles, setting down the other by her computer. "I can always find coffee."

He chuckles and takes a grateful drink. Laurel just watches him a moment before moving to sit at the end of the bed. She has so much she wants to ask, and though they have work to do, she feels ready to get back to their earlier conversation. Frank seems to notice her shift and lays his drink down, looking at her curiously and waiting for her to speak.

When she finally does, her tone is soft and tinged with sadness. "Where have you been, Frank?" she asks.

"Laurel…" he starts, just as soft.

"Please, Frank. I need to know. It's been a year of not knowing where you were, what happened with Annalise, why you had to kill Lila," she pleads, the name of the girl he killed barely audible.

Frank averts his eyes away from her at the mention, shame filling his features, and she sighs softly.

"Please, Frank."

He's silent for several moments, and she starts to think that maybe they haven't actually made any progress, that he's content to keep her in the dark, keep her at a distance. May she's wrong to think he wants something real with her.

But finally—finally—he lifts his gaze to hers and lightly clears his throat.

"Last time I told you anything, you ran," he says softly.

It's the truth but she takes it as an accusation, and it sends her on the defensive. "I know. I—"

"I'm not blaming you," he rushes to assure her, and she can see it's true. He didn't mean anything against her by the statement and so she remains quiet and allows him to continue.

"I'm just saying… I can't open up—tell you things I've only ever told Annalise and Bon if you're just gonna run again because it's harder than you expect."

She's struck by how much she wants to be let into that club—the small group of people he trusts to truly know him. She _wants_ to truly know him.

"Are there others?" she asks softly. "Have you killed other people?"

"No," he answers without hesitation. "But Laurel—"

"Then I'm not going to run," she interrupts, speaking simply and confidently, sure in herself and this situation.

"Frank, it can't get any worse than that. I'm willing to find a way forward. I want to. But I have to know that you're not going to lie to me again, that you're not going to hide who you are and keep a wall between us. I can't love you if I don't _know_ you."

He looks at her a moment, weighing her words and recognizing what they mean. Slowly he gets up from the chair, moving to sit next to her on the bed. She sees the hope flooding his eyes, the crystal blue shining brightly back at her.

"And you want to?" he asks hesitantly, almost in disbelief that she could even want to give him another chance. "Know me?"

Her answer is simple and sure. "Yeah. I do."

So, he tells her, almost easily. Once he makes the decision to let her in, the words flow out of him.

He was only 13 when it all began. That's when he learned his father had been part of the mafia, very low level—no more than a soldier—but he had been deep enough that when he got injured and ended up in a wheelchair, they weren't willing to just let him go. Once you're in, it's almost impossible to get out.

Laurel instantly recognizes the situation. It's not different from her father's men. Once you pledge that loyalty, you're expected to follow through.

Frank's dad obviously couldn't be of much help to them anymore, so they called for a replacement and even though Frank was younger than his brother, they wanted him, thought he would be more pliable.

And he was. Frank _knows_ loyalty. His family was in danger, and he had to do what he could to protect them.

Laurel listens as he tells her how they groomed him, trained him in fighting, shooting, and all manner of illegal acts. The horrifying truth that he saw his first kill at 16 when he should have been focused on school and girls, being a teenager—the same way she should have been. Instead, she was being tortured in a basement for weeks. So, she gets it in a way, how losing your childhood affect you.

He learned about cleanup then too, and that became his role—that is until he got arrested at 21 for assault and planting evidence. Then he lost what was left of his freedom, left in jail to rot because he didn't have enough clout for anyone to care.

It wasn't until his family turned to Sam, who—Laurel's stunned to learn—was part of the mafia as well, or at least on their payroll. Being a court-approved psychologist made it easy for him to get to people on the inside, either to help them get out or threaten them to stay quiet. She wonders if Annalise knew, when she took on Frank's case, that Sam and his money came from organized crime. But hearing how it was Sam that got Frank out, got him a job with Annalise, gave him his life back while still keeping a threatening eye on him to make sure he wouldn't turn on his former employers, helps Laurel put together the final pieces of the puzzle.

Frank killed Lila for Sam because Sam had control over Frank, could ruin the life he was finally starting to build, could send him straight back to jail, or worse. Frank _owed_ Sam. He wasn't lying that night he told her the truth, the strained and desperate "I had to" that fell from his lips. He didn't have a choice, especially after what happened with Annalise and her baby. There was so much more at play.

When he goes silent, lets the entire story lie between them, Laurel can't quite bring herself to say anything right away. He's gone through so much more than she ever expected—had a life so much worse than she even imagined.

It's a lot to process but she's grateful for that. He's provided her with context, helped her to understand how he got here, who he is, and most importantly, _why_ he did it.

"What didn't you tell me before?" she asks quietly, finally breaking through the silence. He clearly loves her and trusts her with this information, but when he could have told her and stopped the chain of events she set off by mentioning it to Annalise, he didn't.

He looks away in shame and takes a deep breath, not quite meeting her eyes as he speaks. "I wanted to," he starts, "but after you told me what happened to you, what you thought they were gonna do to you in that basement, I didn't think you'd be able to look at me again."

"What do you mean?" she asks cautiously, confused.

He meets her eyes. "I mean, I was one of those guys. I never kidnapped anyone or did that… but I could've if I'd been ordered to—the kidnapping," he clarifies, referring to only part of the trauma she experienced in that basement when she was only 16. "Not the… I could never have done that."

He sounds so disgusted when he says it, that if she hadn't already known it's something he's not capable of, she'd know he was telling the truth. She remembers when she first told Frank about the kidnapping and everything she experienced. He had been so furious that she was ever put in that situation, that her father let her stay in that danger instead doing the one thing that could have saved her. She had felt more loved that night than ever before. It was only a couple of weeks later that he told her the truth and shattered that illusion.

"But I could have kidnapped someone," he continues, breaking into her thoughts, "the way they did you. Hell, I've killed." There's anguish in his tone that she's never really heard before and it makes her heart ache.

She reaches out to him, takes one of his hands in hers, squeezing it tightly as she reaches up and slides her other hand against his cheek so that she can hold his gaze.

"You were just a kid," she tells him. "You were forced into a situation beyond your control, and you did what you had to."

"But I didn't leave," he argues, guilt filling his eyes as he looks at her. "When I got older, when I knew it wasn't right. I didn't leave… And I was good. Any skill they taught me, I picked it right up."

Laurel sighs softly and drops her hand to reach for his free hand, hoping to give him comfort, share her confidence or just… something.

"Frank, I've seen my father's business," she reminds with a shake of her head. "Not the tech and defense stuff but the stuff that's a front for. I _know_ that his men can't just leave. You know that too."

He nods.

"It's not a life that you can just leave because you want to. Hell, you weren't really out until Sam died." She recognizes and believes in that, whether Frank does or not. "You were forced in at 13. You were told you had to do it to protect your family. I don't blame you for that," she tells him truthfully, never meaning something more. "I don't blame you for any of it."


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: This finally happened! The next chapter will be the last one, so we're wrapping it up. I hope to have the final chapter up in the next couple of weeks before the new season._ _Thanks for sticking with me._

 _I hope you guys are still interested in reading one. Let me know if you're still liking it! I truly love and appreciate your comments and likes._

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

It's another 24 hours before Laurel's call to her father yields the desired result. She and Frank have had nothing else to do but spend the day in their hotel room working. It's getting tiring, the same drab and dirty surroundings, and she's starting to think they'll have no choice but to go home and face Annalise's wrath. Laurel's only hope is that Annalise won't actually use this against Frank and fire him after finally allowing him back. She hopes that it's just posturing, taking out the anger Annalise still has for him and making him work for it. At the end of the day, they need Frank's help, and Laurel knows Annalise gets that.

They did take a drive, after breakfast, around town and down to Almora Enterprises in hopes of finding Javier, but it's Sunday and most places are closed, including his work. So, by midday, they end up back at the hotel and on their computers, continuing their work from the day before.

When she starts going cross-eyed during her research for her constitutional law class, she glances up from her computer and can't help but be drawn to Frank, sitting across from her concentrating on his work for Bonnie. The feelings she has for him are overwhelming, more so than they've ever been, after he finally opened up to her in a way she knows he hasn't with anyone else, shared his deepest secrets with her—secrets that could have ramifications for the safety of his family if the wrong people were to find out he talked. But he trusts her not to ever say anything. And, of course, she wouldn't. She just wanted to know him, to understand how this all happened, and now that she does, she's finally able to reconcile the man she loves with the man who murdered Lila. It doesn't excuse it, just as her involvement with Sam's murder will never be okay, but she knows now that it's not who Frank is. Maybe there's a chance now to move forward and start fresh.

"What?"

Frank's soft question, the smirk in his tone, draws her out of her thoughts, and her cheeks redden when she realizes he's caught her staring.

A small smile crosses her lips as she shakes her head. "Nothing, sorry. I was just… thinking," she tells him.

Frank raises an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? 'Bout how you've never seen a sexier man in your life?"

She rolls her eyes and tries desperately not to let her smile widen, though she quickly fails. He mugs at her then, which elicits the desired laugh out of her.

"You know, you still get less attractive with every compliment you give yourself," she teases.

Frank just shakes his head, undeterred as always. "Nah, I still don't believe that," he tells her, pushing his laptop aside so that he can lean across the small table. "I know the beard works every time."

A cocky wink follows but she just smiles wider, her eyes dropping to his beard and lips as she lets the truth of his words wash over her.

"In fact," he starts, and her eyes flick up to his for just a moment, just long enough to see the devilish look. "I bet you're thinkin' about how good this beard feels between your legs…"

"Frank," she breathes out in a weak warning, knowing they should get back to work and not head down this road; except that yeah, she is thinking about his beard, about how much she's missed it, especially over the last couple of months when it was someone else between her legs. She's not proud of it but she couldn't help the way her mind would wander with Wes, using the memory of Frank to help push her in the right direction. She'd never admit it out loud but part of her thinks he's ruined other men for her.

He doesn't heed the warning, and really she didn't expect him to. Instead, he keeps going, voice low and silky and every bit as sexy as he claims to be. "Against that smooth skin, my tongue parting your folds."

He places his hand on her bare knee—she had changed into pajama shorts when they got back, a fact he's now using to his advantage. And it's working, her breathing picks up and she feels like she did that one night, so long ago when he had her pressed up against his wall and described everything he wanted to do to her. He could read her perfectly then and now is no different.

He slides off his chair and kneels between her legs with a wolfish grin. Biting her lip in anticipation, she looks down at his hands sliding up her thighs and feels herself growing wetter.

"Let's take a break," he intones, leaning in to kiss her inner thigh.

Laurel opens her mouth to protest because she should—they haven't even figured out their relationship—but instead, her legs fall open as she breathes out his name.

Frank takes that for the invitation it is and puts his mouth exactly where she wants it, tonguing her through the thin material and causing a soft moan to fall from her lips. But just as he's about to pull down her shorts, a loud knock at the door startles both of them.

"Fuck," Frank growls in frustration, resting his forehead against her thigh.

"Who could that even be?" she responds hazily before breathing out slowly to try and steady her rapidly beating heart.

"I don't know," Frank mumbles as a second knock reverberates through the room.

"Just a minute," Frank snaps in the direction of the door as he stands and pulls his shirt down as much as he can to cover the growing bulge in his pants.

Laurel adjusts her shorts before standing uncomfortably, fully aware now of how wet she actually is. Frank waits until she's ready before heading to the door and opening it sharply.

"What," Frank says a little gruffly before going silent. Laurel approaches out of curiosity and peers around him to see who it might be.

"Javier?" she says in surprise, realizing that he somehow knew where they were staying. It must mean her dad got to him, and that her dad is most definitely tracking her. She really needs a new phone when she gets home.

Javier eyes them a moment, looking contrite. "I'm sorry for interrupting and for not showing up yesterday."

"You're not interrupting anything," Laurel lies as Frank sighs and steps aside so Javier can enter.

"How did you know where we were?" Frank asks suspiciously.

Javier glances as Laurel briefly, seemingly sizing her up, before easily lying. "Not that many motels around. It was easy to figure it out," he shrugs nonchalantly, before moving on to his reason for being there. He shoves his hands in his pockets. "I thought more about it, what you need me to do, and I talked to Ernesto. He believes I should do it. So, I'll go back with you."

"You will?" Frank eyes him, reluctant to believe that Javier suddenly had a change of heart. "Why didn't you show up yesterday?"

"I got scared," he says. "But I want to help."

Frank seems to be gearing up to say something else, and Laurel knows he's getting a little miffed with being jerked around, so she steps in to try and avoid any confrontation.

"That's good," she tells Javier softly, reaching out to place a calming hand on Frank's forearm. "We just wish you would have come yesterday so that we could have talked it out. But it's good that you're here now. Are you sure about this?" she asks. "We need to be sure that you're not going to run or lie once we get you to Philly."

"I need to do the right thing," he tells her, making eye contact. And she sees then that her father has gotten to him. There's fear in his eyes; he knows what will happen if he goes against Jorge Castillo. "I will come back with you and tell what I know."

"Good." Laurel nods and gives him an encouraging smile.

"There's a flight out tomorrow," Frank speaks up then, and she sees that he's on his phone checking on the schedules. "We'll stay here tonight and drive to San Antonio first thing in the morning to catch a flight."

"Great," Laurel agrees as Javier smiles hesitantly. "What time should Javier be here?"

Frank's head snaps up at the question. "He's not leaving," he tells her firmly. "We can't run the risk of him running or changing his mind."

"I will be here," Javier promises. "But I have to take care of things tonight."

"I don't care. You're staying," Frank asserts.

Laurel walks over to him to speak softly. "I think we can let him go, Frank. He'll be here tomorrow. Let him take care of what he needs to, and you and I can have tonight to wrap things up here."

"Laurel…"

"It'll be fine," she tells him.

"And when he doesn't show up tomorrow?" he asks, and it's a valid concern, especially since he doesn't know what she knows but Laurel holds firm. She would really rather not spend the night with Javier in their room, and even though he's been threatened by her father, she thinks letting him go for the night will show some goodwill and allow him to feel more relaxed about the situation. They want him agreeable and helpful.

"I'll be here," Javier speaks up again. "I promise. I just need to take care of some things."

"That's fine," Laurel speaks up, ignoring Frank's accusing stare. "You have to be here first thing in the morning," she tells him. "Don't make a fool of us again."

"I won't."

She glances over at Frank and sees his shoulders dropping as he acquiesces. "Fine. Do not be late. We need to make this flight."

Javier nods, and Laurel gives him a soft smile before leading him toward the door. "Thank you for coming to us," she tells him. "You made the right choice."

Javier looks slightly relieved. "I'm sorry again."

"We'll see you tomorrow," Laurel confirms as Javier steps through the door she's holding open. "No later than 8 am. We need to get to San Antonio for our flight, and it's a long drive."

Javier nods emphatically. "Estaré aquí," he promises, and Laurel gives him a nod before closing the door.

She doesn't turn around right away but can feel Frank's eyes boring into her. She can feel his confusion, and why wouldn't he be confused? They've had so much trouble finding Javier and getting him to cooperate, and here she is just letting him leave for the night.

"What the hell was that?" he asks, finally, as she locks the door and turns around. There's no heat in his words, no anger, just the confusion bubbling up. "You know how hard it was to even find him, and you're really comfortable just letting him go for the night?"

She shakes her head. "I know," she tells him, "but he came here, on his own, and he agreed to go back and testify. I believe him when he says he be back tomorrow."

She hates the way his eyes crinkle, disconcerted. He's not stupid. He knows that she's not telling him everything, and she knows that's not fair, especially not after everything he told her the night before.

"What's going on Laurel?" he pushes, taking a step closer.

She laughs it off and shrugs. "I don't know what you're talking about. He says he'll be back. I believe him."

"That's bullshit and we both know it," he throws back. She flinches slightly at the unexpected anger in his tone, how harsh he's being with her at the moment. However slight, he must see it anyway because he immediately softens and takes a breath. She doesn't say anything but she sees him starting to work through it. And she can't meet his eye, can't say what she's done. Not because she thinks he'll be upset with her but because she hates that she even had to do it.

She can see it, the moment he makes the connection, realizes how this all came together. When he speaks again any trace of anger is gone and, instead, replaced with unease.

"Laurel, what did you do?" his voice is quiet and he steps even closer, concern emanating from him.

She looks up at him as he stops mere inches from her, so close she can feel his love enveloping her.

Swallowing hard, she gives him a tight smile. "What I had to," she admits. "You need this win. You need Annalise to trust you. And _I_ need you. I can't lose you again."

She melts as his hand comes to rest on her cheek, his other hand gently gripping her arm, and she looks him in the eyes—two clear pools of blue looking at her so intensely she's sure he can see into her soul. And she can't look away; instead, bares everything to him, and lets him in just as he did her the night before.

"You didn't have to call your father," he says, almost breathlessly. "We would've figured it out, Laurel. I never would've asked you to involve him. I know what that means for you."

"You didn't ask me to do it," she says softly but firmly, letting him know how sure she is in her decision, not wanting him to think he made her think she had to go this route. "I did it myself. I did what I needed to do for you, for us."

He's silent for several moments, staring down at her with thoughtful eyes. His jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly as he works on reigning in his anger—not with her. Never with her.

"What did you have to give him?" he asks wearily, but she just shakes her head. He'll feel guilty, blame himself, and she doesn't want that. This is all her doing.

"Nothing bad," she tells him instead. "I'll be okay."

He senses the lie and doesn't let it settle between them—but she's not lying, not really. This will affect only her, and she's gotten used to taking on that burden.

But, of course, Frank understands her so well; sometimes, she thinks, more than she understands herself.

"No," he argues gently, "You say it's not bad but it will be for you," he asserts, tone filled with care. "I can already see that."

It's his words—his affection and concern for her—that brings the tears she's been holding back to the surface. He melts as soon as her glossy eyes meet his.

"It's too late now," she reveals with a small voice that's immediately swallowed up by his chest as he pulls her close.

She doesn't stiffen or pull away. Instead, she accepts his comfort—welcomes it, even—and wraps her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. There would have been a time not too long ago that she would have resisted this—any sort of physical comfort.

She supposes it says a lot for how far they've come, how far _she's_ come. She didn't grow up with physical affection. Her mom did her best but it was usually Laurel taking care of her. She learned to be self-sufficient, to trust only herself at a young age. It's a bit of a relief to know she doesn't have to be on her own anymore, if she doesn't want to be.

"You know," she starts softly after a moment, her voice muffled against him as she hugs him close, "after I found out about Lila, I thought you were just like him, that I had fallen for a man like my father. I didn't know what that meant for me, and it's why I said what I did in the basement that night—about not loving you, not wanting you to love me…"

She squeezes him tighter, trying to soften the memory for both of them. His fingers tighten their grip, and she lets that ground her, remind her of what she has.

"I know better now," Laurel continues, "I know you're not him. You've never been him and you never will be."

Frank pulls back at that so that he can look at her. Her tears have dried but the sadness lingers. "What did he ask you to do?"

"The kidnapping," she starts slowly, trying to put it all into words, "It still affects his business. You know how he's not welcomed in Mexico? A lot of that stems from the people who took me," she explains. "He didn't give them what they wanted, and since he refused to pay and play by their rules, they won't allow him to do business. They're connected to a lot of powerful people, politicians and government officials, who have endless amounts of red tape."

Frank's confusion is clear and he shakes his head with a furrowed brow. "What's this gotta do with you? How could you fix that?"

She gives him a sad smile. "He was always angry with me for going to the police after I got away. 'Castillos don't talk to the police, especially not the Mexican police'," she tells him, putting on a deeper voice to mimic her father. "I grew up with that rule but… when the police found me on the side of the road, I told them everything I knew."

"And that came back on him," Frank fills in as understanding floods him. "His business suffered," his spits out angrily, because her father cared more about money than her.

She nods. "Yeah, so when I went to him about finding Javier, making him come back with us to testify, he wanted something in return. Said if I recanted, signed a statement that I had actually just run away and made up the whole story because I was afraid of getting in trouble, then he'd help however I needed with this."

"And that's gonna help his business?"

She shrugs. "I guess it'll clear his enemies, officially. Nothing ever came of it. It's not like anyone ever paid for it by going to jail or even being investigated. The officials chocked it up to a routine kidnapping. It's pretty common there. But I guess it takes some unwanted pressure and scrutiny off of those accused. And they'll lift the embargo on my father's business if I clear them."

"Laurel…" he breathes out. But she shakes her head, trying to put on a mask, trying to hide how it hurts.

"It's not a big deal. It'll just be like it never happened. And I spent the months after with everyone in my family acting like it didn't, with my father acting like I was exaggerating, implying that I was like my mother… so maybe they had the right idea," she whispers, as the mask slips. "I should just pretend it never happened, that maybe I did just make it all up."

"It did happen," Frank says, so ferociously it stuns her for a moment. She's spent so much of her life feeling like no one else even cared that she spent weeks in a basement with men who beat her and threatened her, men she thought were going to take so much more from her. She spent weeks realizing that her father didn't care enough about her to pay what would have been a paltry sum to him. That his money mattered more than his youngest daughter. That after it happened, he got upset with her for talking to the local police, the men who were firmly in the pockets of his enemies, the men who made trouble for him and his company, so much so that he couldn't go back to Mexico. Her recanting paves the way for his return, and more importantly, for his company's return. So that he can make even more money. To have Frank refuse to pretend it wasn't a defining moment in her life, that it didn't affect and change her, is a relief.

"It happened," Frank says again, softer this time, as his hands come to cradle her face. And it feels like someone finally sees her, cares about what she went through. "I'd give anything if it could make it not be true, for you to have never had to go through that. But you did. And you survived, and it's made you the woman you are today, an incredibly strong, smart, kind woman. So, you may have taken it back, and he may be able to go on and pretend he has nothin' to be ashamed of, but it happened. You know it did. And I know it did."

Laurel nods, taking in a deep breath, before letting it out slowly as a couple wayward tears roll down her cheeks. His thumbs brush them away and she watches him shake his head.

"You didn't have to do this for me. I'm not worth it, Laurel," he says vehemently. And she can see that he hates how he's responsible for this, even if indirectly—that because of him, her father has been able to gain the upper hand against her.

But she doesn't see it that way. She knows, now, that Frank would do anything to protect her. And the truth of it all is that she would do anything to protect him—even sell her soul to her father. She shrugs slightly as she tries to come up with the words to best express her complicated feelings. But ultimately, her shoulders drop, and she decides to just say what she feels, what her heart wants. Because to her, that is the simplest thing she could do.

"You're worth it to me," she whispers softly, just loud enough for him to hear it. And he seems stunned by those words, unable to believe that he deserves them.

She looks him in the eye a moment before surging forward and pressing her lips to his, pouring every emotion, every ounce of gratitude, into the action. Because he gets her in a way no one else really has. And she's starting to feel like she finally gets him, too.

His response to her is innate, and she feels his hands find their place on her hips, pulling her tight against him. Her body's reaction to him is just as immediate, and it's almost as if Javier hadn't interrupted them before.

There's always been this passion between them, burning hot, and it's a feeling so specific to him. She craves him always, feels so present and alive in his arms.

Moaning softly against his lips, her hands grasp at his back to pull him as close to her as she can get.

It's not just passion and heat though. Something always lurked deep between them, tying them together, pulling them toward the other, waiting to come to the surface. It has now. They know so much more about each other; they know each other's deepest and darkest secrets. They don't have to hide anything anymore.

All Laurel has ever wanted was to truly know him, and now, not only does she _know_ him, she's trusted him enough to let him know _her._

Frank's fingers tighten against her hips through the thin fabric of her shorts as he slowly pushes her back toward the edge of the bed and deepens the kiss. There's no push for dominance but, rather, their bodies, lips, and tongues meet in perfect unison, moving together as one. She doesn't quite know where she ends and he begins.

Grasping at his shirt, they break apart as she pulls it up and over his head. Her hands slide down his torso, nails raking gently over the well-defined muscles—admiring the hard pecs and abs that make her wish he never had to put on a shirt. She sinks down as her hands reach his pants and sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at him with ravenous eyes and a coy smirk.

She makes quick work of his pants while he stares down at her, eyes dark and just as hungry, taking in her movements, devouring her as she is him. She pushes down his boxers to find him half hard and growing.

Taking him in her hand, she slides her fingers along his length and feels him getting bigger and harder. She leans in, her eyes not leaving his, and drags her tongue from the base of his cock to the tip before circling the head and taking him in her mouth.

He moans out her name at that, eyes closing and head lolling back at the sensation. She smirks around him. She loves watching his reaction to her, making him come undone. He's so good at reading her, making her fall apart, and she loves giving that back, showing that she can read him just as well.

She hollows out her cheeks, sucking him gently as she pushes forward to take him further into her mouth. He grows larger under her attention and she feels more than hears his breathing pick up. His hand finds its way to the back of her head, not to control her movements but simply to ground him. He lets his fingers comb through her hair, gripping the strands as she takes more of him with each bob of her head.

It's not too long before he's slowly pulling her back and leaning down to kiss her deeply. She meets his lips eagerly. He's not usually one to stop her going down on him, just as she's not one to stop him from the same, but tonight neither is really in need of the foreplay.

Instead, Frank makes quick work of Laurel's shirt before wrapping his arm around her waist and easily pulling her up the bed with him. He lays her out on the bed, and she reaches up to run her fingers through his hair and pull him down to her until their lips are meeting again. The kiss is deep and she moans into his mouth as everything seems to slow and they take their time to truly savor the moment.

"Frank," she murmurs, scratching her nails lightly through his beard.

He pulls up slightly and smirks down at her. "Hmm?"

 _I love you_ , she thinks. She wants to say the words, finally tell him how she truly feels, but they get caught in her throat, and instead, she's unable to say anything.

She sees the disappointment flash quickly in his eyes before he pushes it away and buries his face in her neck, pressing kisses from her ear down to her shoulder. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulls him close and thinks that maybe she doesn't have to say it for him to know how she feels. They clearly have a connection that doesn't need a verbal confirmation. She'll get there. And he knows that—he knows what this is, what they are. For now, it's enough.

He kisses down her body until he's reached her shorts. As he begins to push her shorts and underwear down her legs, Laurel sits up to help kick them off. Not wanting to be separated from him for long, she presses her lips against his again and places her hands on his shoulders, guiding him until they've switched places, and he's laying back on the bed. Laurel climbs on top of him, not breaking the kiss, moaning as her sopping cunt slides against his hard cock, her entire body draped over him and pressing into the hard muscles underneath her.

Frank's strong arms encircle her body and keep her close as she sinks down onto him, feeling his length stretching her, feeling full and big inside her.

It's not long before their moans are mingling and she's not sure which are hers. It's slow and almost lazy as she rocks against him, keeping him sheathed inside her. Still, the friction and pressure build between them, their love pushing her easily toward that feeling of pleasure.

His hips move against hers but he's letting her take the lead, supporting her as they melt together. Her lips break from his with a loud moan, and she buries her head in Frank's neck as his hand comes to rest at the back of her head, keeping her close.

She wants to stay like this forever, surrounded by him, safely in his arms, him buried inside her. She's whole at this moment, completely content, and for once in her life, she feels completely loved and wanted.

She closes her eyes and presses her face even closer to him, savoring the feeling of his beard against her skin, breathing in his familiar and calming scent, mewling in pleasure as everything comes together.

"Look at me, Laurel," he whispers as she feels herself getting closer. His other hand slides up her back, coming to cradle her face and pull her up so they are face to face. "Look at me."

It's the emotion in his tone that has her eyes fluttering open to meet his. They're dark, pupils dilated and filled with love. Her breathing stutters at the intensity but she doesn't dare look away, doesn't break their connection.

"Frank," she moans out breathlessly as her hips start to falter, her rhythm breaking as she starts to fall over that peak, tightening around him. "God, Frank," she chokes out, trying as hard as she can not to shut her eyes tight, to keep looking at him. She wants to remain in this moment with him.

He nods in understanding, grunting as his hips push up against hers a little harder, taking over control as her limbs start to go lax atop him. It's not long before he's breathing out her name, too, and she can see him struggling to keep his eyes on hers as he comes hot inside her.

After coming to rest, Laurel presses her lips against his, kissing him deeply, before sliding off him. Frank follows, not wanting to lose their connection, and rolls on his side to face her. Laurel smiles softly as he lovingly pushes some hair behind her ear, stroking her cheek so lightly with the pad of his thumb, just taking it all in. They stay that way for several moments, wrapped up in the afterglow.

It wasn't the most powerful release for either of them. He's made her come much harder. But it's the most satisfying release she thinks she's ever had. With the way Frank's looking at her, she's pretty sure it is for him, too.


End file.
